Chapter Text
Pan isn’t what Emma expects. Slick, dangerous, with a manic gleam in his eye that reminds her of Mr. Gold at his worst. It unnerves her more than she wants to admit.
“I came to see what I was up against,” he says with a smile exposing his teeth. “The Savior.” His head tilts, eyes narrowing. Goosebumps erupt down Emma’s spine but she keeps her expression flat and unamused from years of long practice. “But you’re not really that, are you? Just a poor Lost Girl.”
“I’m no girl,” she snaps back.
“Aren’t you, at heart? Oh, Emma.” His mock sympathy grates her nerves. “You know, Neverland bursts with magic. The power here is old—very old. It can do so many wondrous things.”
That doesn’t sound good. “I’m not looking for a history lesson, Pan. I just want my son.”
“Henry’s mine now.”
Emma's fists clench and she takes a step forward.
“Like hell he is.”
Pan’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I like you, Emma. You’ve got fire. So I’m going to give you a gift.”
“I don’t want any gifts,” she seethes. “Just give me Henry.”
“No, I don’t think so. You see, you’re a bit of a thorn in my side. Always around, always taking charge. Banding your little group together around you like a guiding star. But you weren’t always like that, were you?”
He steps forward, pressing into her space. He should be ridiculous, trying to intimidate a grown adult, but Emma's mammalian hindbrain screams panic. The air around him feels—wrong, somehow. Diseased and noxious, like fumes from a poisonous plant.
"Enough with the monologue," she says, bulling her way through her unease. "Enough—"
Pan hisses through his teeth. “I can see you. Emma Swan. You can pretend you're some kind of Savior, but us?" He gestures between them. "We know the truth, don't we? At heart, you’re just a pathetic little orphan. Alone. Useless.”
“I’m not.” Emma wants to sound confident, snappish, but the words clog in her throat, falling out in a distressed whisper. “I’m not.”
“You are. It’s buried deep, but it’s there.” He steps closer. Nearly her height, lean and wiry as a sapling; he’s supposed to be an eternal child, but his eyes are old. He’s wrong, Emma’s brain screams. “I think I’ll bring her out again. Remind you what you really are—and let all those pesky followers of yours see it, too. It’ll be most fun for me and, who knows? Maybe you’ll even thank me for it.”
He presses a finger to her forehead before she can stop him, his skin cold and clammy as a corpse's. She jumps back, but the icy press of his touch lingers on her skin, spreading down her forehead to her cheeks, her neck, her chest—
“What the hell—”
“I’ll be seeing you, Emma.” He fades back into the shadows of the trees until all that remains is that crocodile smile. “I look forward to meeting you. The real you.”
Emma almost charges after him, but she drops to her knees as a shockwave rolls through her body, igniting her nerves and electrifying her bones. She screams, vision fading in and out until everything finally, blessedly, goes black.
Killian's awake and on his feet the second he hears the scream. He knows that scream.
Snow White’s up a moment after him. “Emma,” she breathes and races into the jungle.
Killian swears under his breath and hurries after her, Charming and Regina hot on their heels. His heart thrums in his throat. He knows exactly how much trouble someone can get into on Neverland. Why would Swan even go off on her own? He should have made it clear how dangerous the jungle was, how necessary it was to stick together. Lord, if she’s dead—
They tumble into a small clearing in a clump of trees, just minutes away from camp. There's something wrong with the air here—it's too cold for Neverland, and everything's quiet and muffled. Killian knows the afterimage of Pan's magic and his stomach twists. If Pan's taken Emma—But then he sees the crumpled form in the center of the clearing and stops cold, breathing hard.
Ahead of him, Snow stares, hand to her mouth.
“What?” Charming pants out behind them as he gets his own look. “What?”
“That’s not good,” Regina mutters.
Killian can’t argue with her, struck dumb by the blonde teenager passed out on the ground before them.
“She’s—she’s—” Charming can’t seem to collect his thoughts.
“Emma,” Snow murmurs and drops to her knees next to the girl.
Killian braces himself against the nearest tree. It has to be Swan—that hair is unmistakable. But the girl on the ground looks all of fifteen years old, if that. Killian’s hand clenches as he takes in her skinny wrists and pointy elbows, her soft face with childhood fat still clinging to what will become excellent cheekbones. Young. So young.
“How did this happen?” Charming’s breathless and choked, words tumbling out all over each other. “How can this happen? Regina?”
She throws up her hands as he rounds on her. “Don’t ask me,” she snaps. “This isn’t my kind of magic. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“It was Pan,” Killian says.
Charming and Regina both look at him. Snow keeps her eyes fixed on her daughter, but Killian knows she’s listening.
“Neverland has a strange affinity for time magic,” Killian explains absently, most of his focus still on Swan. “I don't know the specifics involved, but it’s why the Lost Boys never age. Pan’s connected to the island in some way—he can harness its magic. He’s the only one with the power or means to do this.”
“But why?” Charming asks. He looks back at his daughter like he can’t resist, drinking her in. He steps forward and puts a hand on Snow’s shoulder; she reaches up to cover his hand with hers. “Why would he do something like this?”
“Well, it gets her out of his way rather neatly, doesn’t it?” Killian says.
“How—” Charming’s expression falters. “Oh, god. You think he took her memories, too?”
“Pan specializes in erasing memories,” Killian says. “I think it’s fair to say the lass won’t remember anything past the age she is right now. He’s effectively taken her off the board and given us a new problem to distract us all in one go." He crosses his arms and fists the leather of his coat sleeve, trying to stay calm. "Rather ingenious, really.”
“David,” Snow says softly. “She won’t remember us.”
Charming makes a low, hard sound like he’s been stabbed. Killian looks away, biting savagely into his cheek. He shouldn’t feel any sympathy for these people, but it bleeds up in him anyway. Hundreds of years trying to harden his heart and it turns out it’s just as uselessly soft as ever. Liam’s probably laughing at him from the afterlife.
“She won’t remember Henry either.” Regina remains practical, arms crossed over chest as she assesses Swan critically. “She can't be older than sixteen. A few years before she even met Neal, if I’m remembering their sordid history correctly.”
Snow touches Swan's swath of pale hair lightly, fingers trembling. "My poor girl."
"Poor us," Regina says. "This is going to make everything ten times harder."
Charming rounds on her. "Don't you dare—"
"I'm just saying! I remember what Ms. Reason and Logic was like when she showed in Storybrooke, don't you? And now we have to convince her that she's actually nearly thirty, she has a child, and oh, by the way, fairytales exist?" Regina shakes her head. "We’re going to have a hell of a time.”
“She’s waking up,” Snow says.
“Oh God,” Charming mutters, bracing himself like he’s readying for a fight.
Killian puts a hand on his sword out of habit at the tone. On the ground, Swan’s eyelashes flutter and she blinks, squinting up at them. Her eyes are the same, at least—big and green and fearless.
“Ow,” she mutters and tries to sit up.
Snow reaches out to help her and Swan scurries away from her, panic on her face as she realizes she's not alone.
“Who are you?” she demands, big green eyes flicking over all of them. Killian straightens when she looks at him, but her brow only furrows. “Where am I? What’s going on?”
“Emma—” Snow reaches for her again but Swan ducks away from her hands, scrambling away until her back hits a tree.
“Where the hell are we?” she demands. Her eyes are wide, whites showing around the edges. Killian doesn’t like that look. He braces himself. “This isn’t—it’s not—”
“Emma, calm down,” Snow says.
“Fuck you, lady,” she spits out and she’s gone before any of them can stop her.
Killian curses under his breath and takes off after her. Charming’s hard on his heels and he can hear Regina and Snow shouting behind them. The trees make everything harder—he can only catch glimpses of Swan’s hair as she turns a corner and it’s not long before he loses sight of her altogether. She’s a quick little thing.
“Damn it,” Charming curses behind him.
“You stay back,” Killian says. “If there’s too many of us chasing her, it’s too easy for her to hear us coming.”
“She’s my daughter,” Charming starts, furious.
“Right now she’s a lost girl,” Killian says. “I know this jungle better than anyone.” When Charming still hesitates, he takes the time to turn and look him in the eye, channeling Swan for a moment; direct, honest. “I swear to you I will bring her back.”
Charming’s expression spasms. But he knows Killian’s right, even if he hates it. His jaw throbs as he nods but Killian’s just relieved he didn’t have to waste more time arguing. Stepping carefully, he goes deeper into the jungle, trying to read the trees around him like Snow White. It’s been a long time since he really had to track anything, but the basics are easy enough and Swan is too panicked and too young to be as careful as her older self would be.
He’s on the trail of broken twigs when the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Killian’s lived this long because he trusts his instincts—he swings around just in time to nearly get a face full of tree branch. He blocks it with his hook, but he doesn’t get a good enough grip to shake it out of Swan’s hands. She’s panting, hair a tangled wreck around her face, half feral and wild-eyed in the dim light streaming through the trees.
“Who are you people?” she demands. “Where are we? This isn’t Minnesota!”
“I don’t know what Minnesota is,” he tells her. “Look, Swan—” He considers her young, mulish face. "Emma," he amends, softening his tone a little. She still glares at him, not drawn in at all. Smart girl. “It’s a rather lot to explain. Why don’t I take you back to the others and we can all sit down round the fire and have a little chat, hm? Nice and comfortable and safe.”
Her nose wrinkles and she finally takes a good, long look at him. He smiles a little. He recognizes that look from her older self—the narrow eyes, the pursed mouth.
“Who are you, actually?” she asks. “Some kind of Ren Fair reject?”
“Ren Fair?” he asks. “I don’t know what that is, but that hardly sounds flattering.” He considers her and decides he might as well tell her. “I’m Captain Hook.”
“Captain Hook?”
He still remembers the first way she said his name, when he was tied to a tree and furious at being bested by this strange woman who could see through all of his tricks and lies. It had been full of disbelief, with a strange, resigned undercurrent. But the teen in front of him has none of her older self’s world-weariness. She sounds shocked. Awed, maybe. Her eyes rake over him in hungry gulps.
“But—” she stammers. Her hand lowers. “You can’t actually be—he’s from a book.”
This is the first time Hook’s heard that, actually. He remembers Swan’s little comments about all the stories she’s heard; he hadn’t thought much of it at the time, beyond trying to find out how he was protrayed, but now he wonders at how quickly she recognized him, how much she seems to know about Neverland when other stories—Jack and the beanstalk, for instance—she obviously didn’t spare the space to remember. His head tilts.
“A book,” he repeats, considering the way she’s staring at him. He smiles. “An old favorite, Swan?”
“Stop talking to me like you know me,” Swan says, but her words have lost their angry bite. “You can’t be real. Even if you look—”
She bites her lip. Killian smiles. She’s softer like this, less guarded and intense. And, as always, she reminds him too much of himself. If Pan had wrought this same magic on Killian, his younger self would be just as different, just as—Killian winces to think the word, but no other applies—vulnerable. Swan’s daunting walls aren’t fully constructed yet, despite her wariness, and her impressive stony facade is gone. He finds himself wanting to put something over her; his coat, to keep her narrow shoulders covered, or a shield to hide her from Pan’s scheming. He grits his teeth against the impulse. Swan wouldn’t thank him for it and she doesn’t need protecting, not by him. He’s too out of practice to be any good at it.
“Come back with me,” he says, coaxing. “This jungle’s no place for anyone to wander around on their own. The others can explain.”
Swan wavers. She holds herself in a way he recognizes; defiance, independence clenched in a death grip. She’d rather die than admit she’s afraid or show weakness. Killian’s met so many children like her it makes him a little sick to his stomach; he never thought Swan, brash and pure in a way he’s still trying to believe is real, could ever look like this. He knows she grew up an orphan, without her parents, but what did her world do to her, to make her so wary so young?
“Where are we?” she asks again. The tree branch comes back up. “Tell me the freakin’ truth or I swear I’ll hit you right over the head.”
“Neverland,” Killian says.
“Neverland.” Swan’s voice cracks right down the middle of the word. She sways. “You can’t be—you’re crazy.”
“You know this isn’t that—Minnesota place,” Killian says. Swan is Swan, no matter what age. Logical little creature that she is, she’ll only accept a truth if every piece of evidence is laid out for her in concrete detail. “I mean, I don’t know what Minnesota is like, but does it look anything like this?” He sweeps his hand to indicate the humid jungle around them. Swan doesn’t get distracted by his hand; her eyes narrow on him and her grip tightens on the tree branch. Hm. Distrustful as her adult self and just as clever. She really would make an excellent pirate. “Why can’t it be Neverland?”
“Neverland is from a story,” Swan says, half scornful and half as if she’s trying to convince herself. “A fairytale. Fairytales aren’t real.”
Killian laughs before he remembers himself. Swan stares at him.
“You’d be surprised,” he tells her. “Now, come on. If we linger here any longer, the others will think something’s gotten us.”
“You’re a crazy kidnapper,” Swan says, though she sounds a little uncertain now. “I shouldn’t—I can’t just go with you. You could be a pedophile or a serial killer or something. I’ve seen Cold Cases, I know how this works.”
A healthy sense of caution is all well and good—Killian’s met many street orphans too eager to follow the first outstretched hand, only to find themselves taken advantage of—but it’s hardly helpful right now. Killian considers his options. If he tries to overpower her—and he’s not certain he can; no matter how skinny she is, she’s still Swan—he’ll lose whatever goodwill he’s managed to cultivate. And something in him, a long-buried, Naval part of him, rebels at trying to overpower a young girl, no matter the purpose. But the longer they wait out here, the more likely it is something nefarious will swoop down on them. He also doesn’t trust Charming to stay in one place, and if he goes gallivanting into the jungle to try and find them, Killian’s going to have to be the one to track him down.
This calls for a new strategy. Never let it be said Killian isn't adaptable.
“Keep the tree branch,” he says. “Come with me back to the others and have them explain. No one will touch you and no one will make you stay if you want to try running again.”
She scoffs. “Oh, yeah?”
He gets down to one knee. She’s a tall lass, but this puts them more on an even footing. She scrambles back from him, tree branch coming back up, but freezes as he presses his hook to his chest, his right hand open palm-first in supplication before her. His neck prickles with unease at the show of vulnerability, of the sincerity of what he’s about to do, but he pushes it aside. This girl, wary and scared and familiar, deserves his honesty.
“My name is Killian Jones,” he says. “I swear to you on the life of the woman I loved, no harm will come to you.”
Emma stares down at him. Slowly, she lowers the tree branch.
“You really mean that,” she says. Killian wonders if she’s reading his expression or if that bloodhound instinct for the truth started young. “This is crazy. You’re crazy.” Killian waits, even though there’s a watchful part of his mind listening for footsteps in the forest around them. Emma throws up her hands. “Fine! Fine, I’ll go with you to talk to the other crazy kidnappers. Why not!”
Killian rises to his feet. “Excellent choice, Swan,” he says and she wrinkles her nose. “Now, come and stay close to me. This is a dangerous place.”
She eyes him but follows at his elbow as he leads back the way they came.
Charming must have returned to the others; they’re all waiting at the campsite when Killian and Swan burst through the trees.
“You found her,” Snow breathes.
Swan raises the tree branch as she rushes forward and Snow freezes, hands outstretched. Behind her, Charming’s face is a pained grimace, his eyes fixed on his daughter. Killian exchanges a look with Regina, who has a dark furrow between her brows.
“Who are you people?” Swan demands. “He,” the branch tilts toward Killian, “says he’s Captain freakin’ Hook.”
“Emma,” Swan says helplessly. “We’re—it’s—”
“He is Captain Hook,” Regina says, stepping past Charming to stand at Snow’s shoulder, crossing her arms over her chest and regarding Swan with a sneer. Something about Regina gets Swan’s back up; her chin tilts up, her shoulders square, and Killian steps closer, half-afraid she’ll run again. “And this is Neverland.”
“It can’t be,” Swan insists. “Fairytales aren’t real.”
“Good God, she’s just as stubborn now,” Regina says. “Look around you! You’re obviously not in Kansas anymore.” Kansas? What kind of place is that? Swan must recognize it; her nose wrinkles. “Get with the program—we do not have time for you to go around doubting everything all over the place again.”
“Again?” Swan’s eyes narrow. “I’ve never met you before, lady. What do you mean, again?”
They all exchange looks. Finally, Charming sighs.
“It’s kind of a long story,” he says.
To her credit, Swan listens to their explanation. Killian largely lets the others do the talking and watches Swan’s face flicker with every new detail. She doesn’t believe them. It’s clear as day from the stubborn tilt to her chin.
“So,” she says when Snow and Charming come to their rambling conclusion. “You were cursed to live in my world by that lady in the shoulder-pads.” She points at Regina and Killian coughs to cover his laugh. “But really you’re all fairytale characters. I was sent from your world to protect me from the curse and somehow I came to this Storybrooke and broke the curse. I have a—” She falters for the first time. “I have a son and through some weird series of events, he got kidnapped by Peter freakin’ Pan, so we all came along to Neverland to come rescue him. That about it?”
She sounds so much like her older self. Killian grins.
“We don’t have time for this,” Regina says. “It doesn’t matter if you believe or not, Swan—we have to get going. Every minute we waste, Henry is further away from us.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you people,” Swan snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. “Nothing you’re saying makes any sense. Fairytales aren’t real! Characters don’t just walk out from their books! You’re supposed to have long hair,” she adds to Killian with just enough bite he can tell she’s trying to taunt him into a fight.
He shrugs, not rising to the bait. “I did when I was younger, lass. Got annoying.”
“And who are you two?” Swan demands of Charming and Snow. “Wendy and Michael Darling?”
“No,” Snow says. “I’m Snow White.”
“Snow White,” Swan repeats flatly. To Charming, she adds, acerbic, “I guess that’d make you Prince Charming?”
Charming shrugs. “Or David,” he says, unruffled by her tone. “Seems a little much to call myself Charming.”
Swan’s mouth quirks as if she might smile. Charming brightens in response, but Swan’s expression smooths out again.
“Okay, then. I'll play along for a minute. What are Snow White and Prince Charming doing in Neverland?”
“Well—” Snow throws Charming a look. Killian sighs. They’d left out a few details in their explanation, including their true relationship to Swan; he could’ve told them it was a mistake, had they talked about it first. As it is, they’re in a pit of their own making. “It’s, uh—”
“They’re your parents,” Regina cuts in. When Snow and Charming both round on her, she throws up her hands. “We are wasting time!”
Swan pales, wavering on her feet. Killian catches her beneath the elbow, bracing her as he murmurs in her ear, “Easy, lass. Steady now, there we go.”
“My parents?” Swan’s voice is thin, plaintive. A child’s. Killian’s hand tightens on her elbow. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“No.” Snow’s still glaring at Regina; as she turns back, her eyes widen at the state Swan’s in and she steps forward as if she wants to try and take her from Killian. Swan flinches back into Killian’s shoulder, crowding against his side. Surprised, he allows it and shoots Snow a warning look over her head. Snow stops moving. “Emma, honey, I know this might be hard to accept, but we are your parents.”
Swan barks a strangled laugh. “I’ve waited for you my whole life and now you just—turn up in the middle of nowhere claiming you’re freakin’ fairytale creatures?” Close as she is, Killian can feel her trembling. Rage or nerves? It’s impossible to tell. “Jesus Christ, am I cursed?”
“No, that was us,” Regina says dryly. When they all glare at her, she throws up her hands. “Tiptoeing around her precious feelings isn’t helping, is it? We’re in a crisis situation here, people. Every second we waste on her breakdown is another second we aren’t finding my son.”
“I thought he was my son?” Swan asks. Her eyes grow large as dinner plates. “Unless—are we—?”
Regina makes a deeply disgusted noise and Snow laughs, a little hysterically. “We are not in a relationship, Swan,” Regina says. “My god. If I liked women, I could surely do better.”
Killian frowns at her, a little incensed; he doubts Regina could do better and she likely knows it from the twist of her mouth. But Charming rounds on her before he can say anything.
“You’d be lucky to be with Emma,” he snaps. “Not that I’d ever let you near her with a ten-foot pole.”
“Excuse me?” Regina’s instinctive distaste submerges under her outrage. “I’m a Queen!”
“An evil queen. You think I’d ever let you near my daughter?” Charming scoffs. “Emma’s been through enough, she doesn’t need that kind of heartbreak.”
Regina steps forward and plants a threatening finger in his face. “You seriously think your little ragamuffin jailbait daughter is somehow too good for me? Come on! I’m a powerful witch, I’m rich, I bent space and time to create Storybrooke—”
“She’s a princess,” Charming says.
“She’s the daughter of a farm hand and an outlaw.”
“She’s standing right here,” Emma says. “Christ, are you sure you guys are really working together?” When Regina turns to her, Emma holds up her hands. “Sorry for assuming, I guess! It’s just—” She shrugs.
Regina frowns. “What?”
“Well--you’re pretty much my type, that’s all.” Killian has to bite his cheek so he doesn’t laugh at Snow and Charming’s obvious horror. “Tall, dark, and broody always works for me, so I wouldn’t have been surprised if we were together.” Swan rolls her eyes. “Assuming this isn’t all some kind of fever dream, I mean.”
Killian can’t deny Swan’s got a point, at least as far as he’s aware of her romantic history. Regina’s reaction isn’t what he expects—her mouth drops open and, to his delight, a faint pink tinge blooms on her cheekbones.
“I think I’m having an aneurysm,” Snow says faintly.
“Welcome to parenthood,” Killian says.
“They aren’t my parents,” Swan says firmly. “I mean, they’re not even old enough.”
“It’s a bit complicated,” Snow says.
“Because of the ‘curse’?”
“Yes. We were frozen in time for your entire life, from when the curse was set. I’m only a few years older than you. When you first came to Storybrooke and we didn’t remember, we were roommates.”
Regina seems to have finally recovered from the shock of learning Emma Swan could actually be attracted to her. Killian has a feeling it's not something she'll forget about, though. Is anyone immune to Swan's charms? Still, he rather hopes Regina doesn't plan to act on anything—Killian is confident, but Regina has magic at her fingertips, so if it comes to an actual fight, he's not so sure he'd win.
“We need a plan,” Regina says. “If Pan really did this as a distraction, we have to find a way to fix it.”
“Swan’s the biggest threat to him,” Killian says. “That’s why he put her out of commission.”
“I thought Peter Pan was a good guy,” Swan says. Then she shakes her head. “God, you’re pulling me into this fantasy. How the hell do I go home? And don’t say I need to tap my heels three times.”
Is that a reference? “How would that help?” Killian asks, intrigued.
Swan eyes him. “What, you don’t have the Wizard of Oz at the Ren Fest?”
“I’ve been to Oz,” Killian says. “And yet I’ve never heard—”
“Oh, good lord,” Regina says.
Eventually, the others come to the same understanding Killian did two seconds after he realized how Swan got cursed; the only person who can undo it will be Peter Pan himself.
“This is good.” Snow’s trying to be encouraging but her voice breaks a little in the middle. Swan won’t look at her. “I mean, it means we don’t have to change our plans that much, really—we need to get to Henry and he’s with Pan. Two birds, one stone.”
“We still don’t know where Pan is,” Regina snaps. She’s standing away from them, arms crossed over her chest, looking out into the dense jungle as if she can hunt her son down by her dark stare alone. “Without that, we’re sitting ducks.”
“I have an idea about that,” Killian says. “Pan moves his camp regularly; we’ll never be able to find him on our own. But I think there’s someone on the island who can track him. Assuming she's still here, I mean.”
They all look at him. Swan hasn’t left his side yet, though he can’t quite tell why—she's nervous around Snow and Charming, but he doesn’t think he’d be any more comforting. They, at least, look like the heroes they are; he is still a villain and even one she knows well from her book. But she sticks to him like he can shield her and he won’t lie and say it doesn’t make something warm grow in his chest. It’s been a long, long time since anyone vulnerable looked to him and saw protection instead of a threat. It surprises him how good it feels.
“Oh God,” Swan says. “Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”
Killian smiles down at her. “What d’you think I’m going to say, lass?”
Her unamused mouth and flat green eyes are the same. How early did she learn that face? It almost makes him laugh.
“Tinkerbell,” Swan says.
“Oh, bravo,” he says, delighted. “Is she in this book of yours as well?”
“Jesus Christ.”
Swan rubs her forehead, swiping back stands of hair falling in her eyes. When it falls back in her face immediately, she makes an annoyed sound and, without taking her gaze off of him, she reaches back and braids back her hair with sure competence, as if she does it all the time. Over her shoulder, Snow watches in fascination.
“I didn’t know you braided your own hair,” she says softly.
The braid is tight and straight, with no escaping whisps—Swan's obviously practiced at it. She flicks a look over at her mother and her mouth pinches.
“Well, someone had to do it,” she says. “I learned when I was a kid.”
Killian winces as Snow's face drops. Swan’s always had a mean right hook and an instinctive nose for soft spots. He still can hear the way she asked about Milah, how she furrowed her way to every aching point on his well-hidden underbelly.
“Do you know where to find this Tinkerbell?” Charming asks, diplomatically trying to steer them back on course, one comforting hand on his wife’s shoulder.
“She’s still on the island.” Killian glances over and finds Regina wan and wide-eyed, as if she’d just been slapped in the face. He frowns. “She doesn’t like Pan anymore than I do, but she’s a fairy. She’s tied into the magic of the island like he is; she may be able to help us locate him.”
“May be able to?” Regina scoffs. “I’d like something more concrete.”
“This is Neverland,” Killian says. “Maybes are all you’ll get. Besides, she'll be dead useful when we do find his camp. I guarantee he has magical protection wherever he is."
“It’s the best lead we’ve got for now,” Charming says, frowning uncertainly. “If we can find her, maybe we’ll spot something along the way.”
Killian has a moment’s longing for the adult Swan; she always prowled ahead, even when she didn’t know what the hell she was doing. He admired that about her, even back when he was still with Cora and had some twisted mixture of loathing and betrayal deep in his gut at the sight of her. She would’ve had more questions, would have decided more firmly. The lack of her is like an open wound in their group, one her teenage self can’t fill. This girl has years of growing up to do before she can match her adult self’s confidence.
“Fine,” Regina mutters. “But if this is a dead end, I’m turning everyone into frogs.”
Swan scoffs. “You can’t actually do that.”
Regina stalks toward her, scowling. “Just watch me, princess,” she sneers. “Turning you into a frog would be child’s play.”
“Regina.” Snow’s rebuke is severe. “Emma is relearning all of this.”
“She’s not relearning anything. She’s clearly still as skeptical as she ever was, no matter what she sees right in front of her blind little nose.”
“Fine!” Swan throws up her hands. “Do some magic then, if it’s all so real and obvious!”
Regina’s sneer deepens. She opens her hand and flicks her fingers; flames spring up in her palm.
Swan freezes in place, eyes growing three sizes. Snow and Charming step forward, alarmed, but she flinches back from them into Killian again. He allows it, frowning down at the crown of her head.
“What,” she breathes. “That’s—what?”
“Lass,” Killian says, uneasy. “Easy. It’s magic, that’s all.”
He flinches when she laughs—it's a dry, joyless thing. “I’ve never seen magic in my whole life, Hook.” Despite himself, Killian is charmed by the way she still says his name exactly the same as her older self. “Magic is for fairytales, not me. Not my life.” She laughs again, this one even smaller and harder. “Fuck. It’s all true? You’re really all storybook characters?” She twists to look up at him, green eyes searching his face so seriously he freezes in place. “You’re really Captain Hook?”
“Yes.”
“Then they’re really—they’re really—”
Her breath is coming too fast, Killian thinks, alarmed. He’d never thought Swan the type to faint, but she’s a lass again now.
“Your parents?” he asks. “Yes, love. They are.”
Swan hiccups out a hysterical little laugh. “Snow White?” she asks—not to Killian, almost to herself. “Prince freakin’ Charming?” She laughs again. “I’m a princess?”
“Swan.” Killian gives in to the urge and gives her a little squeeze around the shoulder. Older Swan would have eeled out of his grip like a street cat, hissing all the way, but younger Swan presses her forehead into his shoulder. She’s shivering. The instinct rears up again to cover her with something, to hide her away from the watching eyes of Regina—even from her parents. Killian stifles it. “Is it really so bad? They’re alive, lass. Alive and here.”
She breathes against his shoulder for a long moment. He lets her go as she abruptly turns out of his grip, facing her parents with her chin up. Brave little thing, Killian thinks fondly. There's a core of steel in Swan.
“You’re really my parents?” she demands, looking between them. Her eyes narrow and Killian thinks she’s cataloguing all of the little things that mark her as theirs—Charming’s hair and Snow’s eyes. “This isn’t some kind of prank or something? You’re—you’re Snow White and Prince Charming? And you’re—?”
Snow and Charming exchange a speaking look. “Yes, honey,” Snow says. “I promise this isn’t a joke or a prank. We’re your parents.”
Swan’s mouth firms; she can tell Snow is telling the truth. Her eyes narrow. “You left me,” she says, voice a whip. Snow flinches. “You let me come here all alone, just a baby, and you—you abandoned me, you let me grow up without anyone—”
“Emma, sweetheart—” Charming tries to step forward, heartbreak in his face, but Swan steps back from him, holding up her hands to ward him off. “We didn’t have any choice,” Charming says helplessly.
“You could’ve kept me,” Swan says. “You could’ve—could’ve said screw it and kept me.”
“If we’d done that, you would’ve been cursed too, Emma,” Snow says.
“Yeah, maybe,” Swan says. She smiles, brittle and bitter. “But at least then we would’ve been together.”
Killian almost wants to applaud a blow well-struck. Snow flinches back, all the color draining from her face, and Charming looks like someone just ripped out his heart from his chest. Killian whistles under his breath instead and touches Swan’s shoulder.
“Easy, lass,” he says.
“I’ve been having this conversation with them for fifteen years,” Swan says without looking back at him, her voice sharp. “In my head, in letters, in my dreams—I’ve thought about what I’d say, if I ever saw them.” She huffs a low, harsh sound that could be a laugh, if someone was generous. “I didn’t exactly figure in a freakin’ curse or magic or fairytales or whatever. But that doesn’t matter. I’m going to have my say.”
“As cathartic as you may find this, Miss Swan, we still do have actual problems,” Regina cuts in, all ice. “My son, remember?”
“My son,” Swan corrects and some of her harshness splinters as she makes a strange face, grimacing. “Uh—wait no, that’s too weird.”
Killian stifles a laugh. “Let’s go find Tinkerbell—”
“You’re just making it weirder,” Swan mutters.
“—and then we can figure out our next move and have all the fun little chats we want, yes?”
Swan glances at her parents, who still look ashen and shaky. They’re holding hands and, under Swan’s stare, Killian catches the way Charming squeezes Snow’s fingers.
Swan nods. “Fine,” she says. “The sooner we get this figured out, the sooner I can get out of this whacko land and back to my real life.”