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hookaroo · 5 years

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Vocivore, Ltd. (24 of 40?)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, and @courtorderedcake <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE!!!!!******

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

******NEW!!!!!!!!!!! KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!! CHAPTER 1 ART JUST POSTED YESTERDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!***

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

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CONTENT WARNING!!!!!!!

THIS "BONUS" CHAPTER GOES QUITE A BIT FURTHER INTO THE NON-CON ELEMENTS OF THE MASTER'S RELATIONS WITH KILLIAN. Farther than I had originally planned and warned about in the beginning. I did my best to avoid being TOO descriptive, but it's still fairly evident what is taking place. You can safely skip this chapter if you aren't interested in that sort of thing.

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Present (Friday, early morning)...

If there had once been a time when the animal impulses drove Killian’s response to this--any physical response fully against his will, that only served to make it all so much less bearable--it was simply out of the question now. He had neither the blood nor the energy to spare.

It hurt less than it used to; both a blessing and a curse, in light of the double objectives of the creature above. That usually meant that his Master satisfied only one of its cravings at a time. Signifying more torture to come. In this particular Session, considering the number of days the Vocivore had gone without, Killian could only resign himself to extra brutality on both counts.

Killian’s Master stilled, electing to delay the end. He could sense its pleasure and its need, how it was deliberately controlling its passions for the sake of savoring each sensation. Two of its six legs held him in an inescapable embrace, and their jagged tips dug into his lower back with bruising force.

“My Tripod does not struggle much today,” remarked his Master as a tentacle caressed his jawline. Remorseful tears gathered in Killian's eyes. He knew that was a bad sign but could not remember why. The thought that he was failing to please his Master drowned out most other concerns.

“I'm sorry, Master,” croaked Killian. An unpleasant twinge elicited a wince and the beginnings of a short-lived squirm, but that only made everything hurt, and he could not continue.

“It is, perhaps, that you are unaccustomed to providing a means for me to break my fast.” It settled lower, deeper, and Killian choked back a sob.

It had come for him before the sun was up, before the birds had even begun a timid dawn greeting. He had been awake already, despite his weariness; too much pain plus the falling overnight temperatures had combined to drag him out of what little rest he'd been able to manage. So he'd been awake to hear the menacing scuttle of those pointy legs on the barn floor, to feel the dread when the shadowy hulk loomed over the entrance to his stall, reaching in with a glistening tentacle to unlock his chains and drag him to his feet.

There was meant to have been something different about this morning. Something he was going to do... Something... he was commanded to do? Yet his Master gave no hint.

He'd followed it to the best of his ability on an ankle swollen and brittle, every step tearing at the fragile clots formed around deeply buried staples. He'd made it as far as the cemetery before collapsing, and then his Master had taken him up in its arms, folding him into lung-crushing portability, carrying him inside with an effortless tenderness, and for once, all concern over the future faded into the background and he went limp, surrendering fully to the being rightfully in ownership of his body and mind.

The jarring landing as he'd been deposited onto the stones at the foot of the stairs had awakened some sense, reminding him of his imminent suffering. In unison with the creature positioning itself above him, strange but familiar words had haunted his mind.

Dead, gone hope. No... No hope.

Now, crouched and shivering with anticipatory glee, Killian's Master continued to stroke him. Its tentacle trailed along his neck, upper chest, and shoulder, pausing at the two parallel lines of outstandingly sloppy sutures, worse even than Z’s. The tentacle tip prodded the fresh injuries as if trying to remember their origin, and Killian held his breath without fully knowing why. After a moment's hesitation, it returned its attentions to his bare throat.

“Tell me, Tripod, do you wonder why it is I have not yet replaced the collar stolen from you by the humans?”

Killian swallowed and tried not to cringe away from all of the unwanted petting and probing. “Yes, Master.”

A disturbing smile crossed the alien face; it was plainly quite excited by its current train of thought. The creature straightened suddenly, allowing him to fall, empty and bleeding, onto the cold floor. Killian grunted as a lungful of air left him in a whoosh. Almost instantly, the bulky figure was at the top of the stairs and heading for a damaged lectern near the wall. Its slave could do nothing but lie there, anxious and in pain.

“How I missed you while you were away,” mused the Vocivore, reaching into the hollow structure as it spoke. “Yet my time was not spent pining after you; nor was it passed in idleness.”

Killian could not crane his neck far enough to see all of the bits and pieces being retrieved from the lectern; neither did he particularly want to. In any case, his Master had collected its desired implements and was skittering back down the steps in short order. It placed the equipment nearby before quickly returning to its previous position. All facets of that position, resumed with brutal efficiency. Killian whined and squirmed feebly for a moment.

“It is a pity you do not derive the same pleasure from our connection as I do,” breathed Killian's Master, holding quite still as it savored the bliss washing over it. A tentacle nudged a bit of unresponsive flesh in demonstration. “It would be one portion of repayment for all I feel in gratitude.”

Without further ruminations, the Vocivore selected a collar from the scattered items on the floor.

OPEN YOUR EYES, TRIPOD.

Killian had not realized he’d closed them. Reluctantly, he obeyed, catching sight of the familiar ring of metal, but there were several differences with this one. Four small holes had been drilled along the collar’s circumference, not quite evenly spaced. Opposite the padlock, a bulky box was affixed to the outside, almost a seamless part of the collar, but not quite. Perhaps five centimeters wide, two high, and two deep, it appeared to be made of black plastic, with a slot along the inside through which the collar could slide.

Seeing that Killian had gotten a good enough chance to inspect the new collar, his Master leaned forward to fasten and lock the device in place around his neck. With a small, delighted shiver at Killian's renewed little wiggles, the creature retrieved what looked like a computer cable, which it plugged into the collar’s black box.

Panting with sudden dread, Killian envisioned waves of electricity coursing through him, scalding him and ripping open wounds as his muscles contracted in an agonizing tetany, not even considering the fact that, with the way he was “connected” to his Master right now, the monster would likely be similarly affected.

“One of your fellow Voices assisted me in this design,” explained his Master. It did not seem to notice Killian's distress, except as heightened pleasure from more exaggerated struggling. “Its purpose is straightforward, though difficult in execution.”

A pincer was busy checking the security of the cord snaking between the collar and a tablet-like device on the floor. After accomplishing that, the next item to be selected came into view.

It was a black sphere, its size somewhere between a golf ball and a billiard ball. One half was covered by a fine metal grating reminiscent of the windscreen on a microphone; out of the other protruded a wire similar to that which adorned his collar. Dangling from the interface between mesh and plastic were two straps with buckles on their ends.

“I have long desired a means by which I might extract and capture scream energy, to sustain me when my supply of Voices runs low. Or, in your case, to revisit long after you have expired.”

His Master's unoccupied tentacle abruptly forced its way into Killian's mouth, tasting of filth and blood and stinging acid.

OPEN.

Killian's jaw snapped open automatically, the reaction an instant, unsettling obedience that required no consideration on his part. But wait. He was meant to have some say in this, somehow. Something that, up until now, gave him some semblance of choice?

His Master removed its tentacle and roughly shoved the ball in its place. The mesh scraped along Killian's teeth with a raspy buzz, forcing his jaw to its very limits to accommodate its diameter. Breathing in frantic gasps through his nose, Killian fought rising panic. His Master would think nothing of breaking teeth or dislocating his jaw; indeed, either of those occurrences might serve as a bonus. But he was powerless to resist this new invasion. All of his limbs were pinioned, excessive movement only heightened every pain... and his Master willed for him to accept the device.

No hope? What subconscious part of him demanded that he remember those words?

The ball lodged behind his teeth, and he could feel the straps at the corners of his mouth. His Master hummed in satisfaction, quick to cinch and secure the buckles behind his head. Killian moaned unintelligibly; the Vocivore sighed in delight.

“You please me greatly, Tripod. Such an agreeable way to begin the day.”

Killian's Master stretched leisurely, then sank back down, enjoying the muffled grunts of its gagged slave. Then it resumed its earlier explanation.

“Of course, a simple recording is worthless to me. It can never capture the full essence of the scream; that which I draw my strength from. But I am hopeful that this technique might.”

It connected the second cord to the tablet at its feet, while Killian focused on remaining as still and calm as possible. Already he could feel saliva pooling at the back of his throat, and he wasn't certain he would be able to swallow with the ball holding his mouth open so wide. His current discomfort was almost enough to distract him from the horror of the upcoming pain... in whatever form it would take...

Leaning sideways, and seizing the opportunity for another sneaky little bob of its lower half, Killian’s Master scooped something small from the floor.

“I am most eager to try the theory and its application out on you, favored one. You shall be my first test subject.”

Shifting yet again, his Master wrapped a tentacle around the collar saying,

“This device, here, must be precisely aligned in order to function. Among other things, it tracks every slight movement of your throat. Therefore, Tripod, I must insist upon a reliable method of securing the collar in position.”

Killian felt a tiny prick in the side of his neck, toward the back, right in the center of the strip of metal encircling the flesh there. Aligned with one of the holes he’d spotted earlier. He had time for only one sputtering, wordless curse before his neck exploded into a twisting, ripping pain that radiated up to his eardrum and all the way down to his scapula. He thrashed weakly, prevented from reaching toward the raw anguish, alternately sobbing wordless pleas and choking on aspirated drool. His Master applied more torque; the flames burned hotter. Then the creature rapidly withdrew itself, releasing a mournful sigh. Its pincer still trapped Killian's wrist so that he could not touch the excruciating, pulsing burn in his neck.

“You know I prefer it when you face me,” stated his Master in a calm tone, just barely audible above Killian's whimpering coughs. “But, alas, it seems I must forego that pleasure today. Up on your knees, Tripod. Clear your airway, free those screams.”

All restraint temporarily lifted, Killian's hand flew to his newest wound, brushing against protruding metal before being swatted roughly away.

NO.

Tears rolled down his temples as a shuddering Killian attempted to push himself up. The unavoidable use of the pierced neck muscles hurt like the devil. He made it as far as his elbows before needing to take a break, but his impatient Master gripped him by his neck and torso and hauled him to a seated position. For an instant, Killian was more concerned with the carousel spin of the sanctuary than the pressure spiking his neck.

“I grow weary of waiting,” growled Killian's Master, prodding his shoulder in a silent instruction. Still woozy, Killian nevertheless summoned the strength to obey; if he didn't, the reaction would likely be damaging and very painful. As he struggled over onto his knees and hand, he continued to hack, most of the air exploding out through his nose, but now that he was upright, at least the drool could dribble out down his chin and not into his windpipe.

He spied a mountain of short, wickedly pointed screws on the paving stones, each with flat wings attached to their heads like the winding mechanism of a clockwork toy. He cringed as he settled into position, anticipating feeling each one burrowing itself into his neck as the first had done.

Without warning, his Master was pressed up against him, exploring him as it checked the cables leading to the recording device. Once positioned to its satisfaction and assured of its continued experiment, it grabbed one of the remaining screws. Killian squeezed his eyes shut.

“Three more, Tripod. Let's aim for highest-quality screams, shall we?”

*****

It took nearly the entire Session for Killian to come back to his senses, four screws in his neck working somehow to drive the Master’s influence away. For the time being, at least. Gods, he had nearly vanished for good. He'd have surrendered completely to that bastard's will, forgetting family, forgetting self and plan… he would have died a pointless death, alone, soulless and without knowing. If that wasn't enough to solidify his resolve, then what was?

Of course, he had no hope of surviving it. No hope. No hope that the plan would even have success. No hope, even though this Session, while excruciating, had not left him any more hobbled than he'd been going into it. No hope, despite the remarkable lack of additional blood loss to weaken him. It would be foolish to hope, dangerous to dream, and so he didn't. While the Master took its pleasure, and Killian lost his voice in service to its experiment, he clung desperately to his reacquired reality.

At some point, the microphone gag was removed, releasing a partial collection of pink-tinged slobber and enabling him to swallow the rest. The collar remained, though. Killian did not waste the energy to try and clean off the corners of his mouth and chin; instead, he rested as far back on his haunches as his damaged ankle would allow and worked to clear the congestion from his lungs. The Master was fiddling with its equipment, checking to see if the recording had been successful; Killian didn’t give a damn as long as it kept its hands, tentacles, and claws away from him.

“Go and get yourself cleaned up now, Tripod. The number of Exchanges you have earned will be determined by the quality of my results.”

The implication of those words was that the Master wanted to see Killian again that day. Making up for lost time. Killian felt hugely nauseated at the thought.

“Yes, Master,” he whispered. Yet there he stayed, on his knees, spent and unable to rise.

He would skip the useless stop at Z’s. There was just no benefit in it now, not even to seek out the sloppy self-treatment he could attempt. It would only consume a precious portion of what little time he had left. If he succeeded in leaving this chamber, his last remaining strength would be given in initiating their final desperate scheme. Whether it worked remained to be seen, but Killian did not doubt that this would be his last-gasp effort. Their last chance to make any of this worth it.

In the end, the Master had to haul Killian up off of his knees and turn him, unsteady on his feet, toward the front door.

“Your dedication is touching.”

Killian could sense a hint of impatience in the monster’s tone.

“However, I did give you an order.”

GO NOW, TRIPOD. I LOOK FORWARD TO YOUR RETURN.

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theonceoverthinker · 5 years

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A Tumultuous Embrace (3/5) (Golden Hook)

Summary: Captain Hook and Rumplestiltskin have wronged many a man in their days as villains, so many in fact that they’ve unknowingly overlapped on more than one occasion. What are they going to do when two of those cases want revenge and know exactly how to best take it? Now trapped together in a beyond compromising position, will Killian and Rumple be able to work together to fight against impossible odds and get home, or will their lingering hatred of each other prove to be their shared doom as they literally go down together?

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AO3 Fanfiction.net

A/N: I LOVED writing this chapter! It was a long, arduous, bonkers process, but I loved every freaking minute of it! Rumple and Killian being each other's unwitting, but forced-upon torture is my freakin' aesthetic and making a fic of that is essentially a dream come true!

This chapter is less whumpy, but more uncomfortable, and I think it's not only the longest chapter, but the funniest too!

Tagging @ponylasers, @sherlockianwhovian, @killian-whump, @z-aliada, @justsomewhump, @black-wolf066, @therooksshiningknight, @wyntereyez, @hollyethecurious and @darkpoisonouslove! If you want to get tagged for this fic (Or don’t -- I promise I won’t be offended), please let me know!

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CHAPTER 3: A TUMULTUOUS STROLL IN THE WOODS

Pirates were no stranger to the water. Everyone knew that. Water ruled their lives - it was their home, their source of food, and their best means of travel in a world unfriendly towards their kind. But, just as it provided for pirates, it also took away from them in that same vein. It was something of a system of its own personal brand of justice, often serving all at once as a pirate's judge, jury, and executioner for whatever walk of life came into its murky embrace.

And although it was often preferable to be above the water because of this, given his and Rumple's current circumstances, Killian was more than grateful to wake up only partially submerged in the stuff.

Thankfully, as it had been many times before, the water he'd found himself in took mercy on his soul.

As the sun shined a hopeful, speckled light onto him through the nearby trees aside a cloudless sky, Killian took a deep, thankful breath.

He was alive.

They had done it.

But that begged immediately begged the question: Did the other part of his unwitting duo fare so well?

Sure, Rumple couldn't die, but the very water that spared him may have drowned Rumple, leaving him in a catatonic state. That, especially given their circumstances, would actually be worse for the both of them.

Never before had Killian thought he'd wish Rumple was okay, but now, it was almost something of a prayer.

Damnit, he just HAD to make it out of this!

Killian leaned his head forward so that his ear was on Rumple's chest. As if an act of mercy for all they'd had to endure thus far, his heart was beating perfectly. Killian sighed.

He had to thank Zeus for that one - he'd made that bastard as good as surviving as him.

"Wake up!" he said, nudging at his neck as best as he could.

Immediately, Rumple moaned and his eyes fluttered open. He forewent meeting Killian's eyes following a brief few seconds in favor of exploring their new location with his limited viewpoint.

After a moment, Rumple released a breath that mirrored the one Killian took upon making the same realization. "We made it," he said, a calmness in his voice that Killian had never heard before, a calmness that was likely reserved for only Belle, Gideon, and Bae.

Despite everything, Killian smiled. "Indeed, we did. Told you I'd get us back safely. Now the only question is WHERE are we?" Killian looked around. Currently, they laid beside a big boulder inside a shallow brook. Above the brook's edge laid what was clearly a large and expansive forest, but he had no clue if they had remained in town or not.

Rumple examined the area. "I know this place. We're in a small brook by the northern part of Storybrooke's woods. Quite a far cry from the town."

Of course surviving the current and brutality of the very ocean itself would be the easiest part of this mess.

But really, what else would he expect from an adventure in Storybrooke?

"At least we made it out alive," Killian said, sighing.

"Now, tell me these binds loosened up a bit and that will really make my day."

Killian hadn't considered that possibility, but it was indeed quite feasible. The ocean was a harsh mistress to be sure, but maybe that could work to their benefit.

He tried pulling his arm and elbow, first close together and then apart, but much to his chagrin, the knot that bound him stayed just as tight as before. "No such luck. You try."

And try Rumple did - many times. Grunting, he pulled his hands closer and further apart, much like an accordion player.

However, it proved to be no use.

Any goodwill Rumple displayed on his features since waking up was gone now, replaced instead with the scowl that Killian had come to know and hate.

"Let's just get out of here," Rumple huffed. Killian nodded.

Using his free arm as leverage, Killian started to pick the two of them up...only to slip and be knocked down not two seconds later.

They hit the rocks with a thud, with Rumple taking the brunt of the fall.

"Can you TRY to be a bit more careful?" he barked.

"In case you haven't realized, we're in the midst of a brook and all I've on hand for leverage are slippery rocks," he said as they worked to sit up again. "And not only that, but the edge of my arm is completely smooth - thanks to you, by the way. I can only do so much."

Rumple looked to his left, either ignoring or not caring about how his chin hit Killian's nose in the process. Killian turned to face that way, pushing their cheeks together once more.

"Let's scoot over to the end of the brook," Rumple suggested. "With any luck, we'll be able to get up from there."

Killian agreed. The pair shifted onto Killian's back once more. From there, his arm pulled at the slippery rocks while both of their sets of legs pushed in the direction of the brook's edge.

It didn't take long before something harsh hit his shoe.

"Ow!" Killian snapped. "Be careful!"

"I can't see!" Rumple shot back.

"Then don't step so hard!"

"Yes," Rumple mocked, his tone as drenched in sarcasm as their bodies were in water, "because soft steps are what will get us out of here."

What came out next of Killian was a mix of a groan and a roar. "What the hell could I have done that warranted this kind of torture? Out of everyone in the all the realms I could've been stuck with this way, it HAD to be you!"

"I promise you, CAPTAIN: You were hardly my first choice either."

The two glared at each other, frustrated at how they could only just barely keep their noses from touching.

If Killian could have it his way, they'd be on opposite sides of the world.

Seething, Killian got back to work, with Rumple following suit, his steps somehow turning even harsher.

And Killian paid the deed in kind.

"Watch it," Rumple snarled when one of his foot stomps hit its semi-intended target.

"I will when you do."

"How much further do we have to go?"

Killian tilted his head back and was perturbed to see just how little progress they'd made.

"We're maybe halfway there."

"Please tell me this is one of your awful jokes."

"This isn't a joke," Killian commiserated. "It's a travesty."

Rumple sighed, his head landing on Killian's chest for the barest of seconds before he recoiled. "For once, I'll agree to that."

"Then let's work to end it," Killian said.

Killian and Rumple got back to work, pushing and pulling through the rocks silently while facing opposing directions. While Killian's arm would occasionally slip, Rumple didn't interrupt their progress to yell at him, instead just grunting as he got back to work.

As far as cooperation went for them, with their lives no longer so directly on the line, that was likely the best Killian could hope for.

However, that did paint a worrying picture for how they'd go about handling the next stage in their climb.

After about three minutes, Killian tilted his head back to see that they were nearly close enough for his arm to latch onto the grass of the forest.

"Look alive," he said. "We're closing in on the brook's edge."

Through his shirt, Killian could feel Rumple looking up to confirm his words.

"What do you think? How should we get up there?"

Killian took a moment to plot out his plan.

"We'll dig our side into the side of the brook and shimmy up the ledge. Once your arm can secure a hold on the ground, we'll push ourselves up onto it with our legs."

"This better work," Rumple grumbled.

"It will."

Killian dug his feet against the closest rock to them at the bottom of the brook and proceeded to shove his and Rumple's shoulders into the wet dirt that comprised the brook's ledge. He pushed his knees in between Rumple's legs, dug his feet in front of one of the rocks on the ground, and started the process of wedging their side up the ledge.

It wasn't an easy job by any means. Getting the rhythm for shimmying and moving up was by no means simple with two people constrained as they were and when those two people could just barely cooperate, it was especially challenging.

But it was working, slowly, but working all the same. They were making bits and bits of progress and it seemed like they would succeed.

Killian was so close to the top of the ledge, now able to make out not only a patch of grass, but a stretch of it.

He started to navigate his arm towards the ledge, but in that moment, his foot's traction against the rock it pushed against started to wane and wane fast.

His and Rumple's scramble for balance was fast given everything, but nowhere near fast nor study enough to save them from the fall.

The two of them shared the brunt of the drop, landing on the cobblestone-like seafloor of the brook. The oblong cobbles of the stones made the fall especially painful, even though the water did help a bit to ease it.

Because the brook was rather shallow, neither of them was submerged beyond a quarter of their faces.

That only served to help Rumple's rage fly faster.

"Yes, that plan of your really worked," Rumple grit, positively seething.

"At least it was something!" Killian shot back.

"What I'd give for use of my hands."

"Well, haven't I had thought THAT a million times before?"

"If you don't get moving, you're not going to be having ANY thoughts!"

Both men stopped to catch their breaths and strategize, but the animosity between the other didn't vanish for so much as a second.

God, HOW did Belle stand to share a house with Rumple, much less marry and raise a child with him? The two of them had been awake for less than twenty minutes and the bindings that kept them clung to each other was all that kept Killian from strangling him!

And this wasn't the end of their journey...likely not even close.

"We need to get up there," Rumple said, his angry expression now morphed into something close to determination.

Well, at least he was just as dead set on getting home as he was.

"Then let's try again."

Killian moved to get back into their previous position, but Rumple pulled him back into the water with his body. Irritation flared up and his blood felt like the innards of a volcano.

"What are you doing?" he nearly shouted.

"No," Rumple refuted. "We're not doing that again."

"Got any better ideas then?" Killian growled.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I do."

"This should be good," Killian said, lacing his comment with all the venom he could muster.

Rumple seemed to have ignored the comment. "We'll push my back against the side of the brook. From there, you'll maneuver yourself onto your legs and stand up."

Killian had to admit that it was a good plan. He'd never say it outright, of course, but he agreed to do it nonetheless.

Once again, Killian maneuvered himself onto his knees, but this time pivoted himself so that he was facing the ledge of the brook. He pushed Rumple's back into the ledge as hard as he could.

"Now who's going too hard?" Rumple snipped. In truth, Killian found himself in pain too since the very ledge that was hurting Rumple was right beside his arms as well. It was almost enough to make him wince, but he wasn't about to let himself to it - not in front of his crocodile.

"You said it yourself: We need to get up there," Killian bit back. Rumple glared at him, but said nothing as Killian continued to push them upwards.

And much to his relief, in but a few moments, he and Rumple were standing upright.

Rumple smirked at him, causing Killian to rolls his eyes.

"You needn't thank me, but if you want to, I'll gladly accept it."

Of course he'd gloat about this, wouldn't he?

Killian didn't rush to answer the comment, instead looking forward - literally - towards their next course of action. Now that they were standing, how would they get on the ledge? The ledge went up to Killian's waist and while he was spry, there was no way he was going to be able to step that high unsupported.

But then he got an idea.

A devilish grin crossed his face and Rumple couldn't even utter a word in response before Killian pushed him - them - onto Rumple's back.

Upon landing, Rumple shot perhaps the most vicious glare Killian had ever seen from him in his life. However, Killian, in between barks of laughter, pushed his legs upon the ledge.

He then turned to Rumple, whose expression had gotten no better since he last looked at it.

To that, Killian smirked.

"Thank you," Killian joked.

By now, Rumple was fuming.

"Get OFF of me," he huffed, shoving Killian. The impact of the push ended up being more than likely either of them expected, sending them not only on their sides, but rolling a ways away from the brook in the direction of a tree. Their momentum was killed, as Killian's back slammed into a tree.

Both men exclaimed upon the crash, Rumple's balled fists pushing deeply into Killian's back, which only made the landing worse for Killian. They rolled out a bit so they were on their other side and a little bit away from the tree.

"You," Killian grunted, "are the worst."

"I couldn't breath with you on me!" Rumple bit back. "What was your excuse?"

"I was getting us up that ledge! What, would you have preferred we stay there for a drink?"

"You could've given me a warning!"

"You could've been less of an ass by the ledge!"

The both of them sighed and looked away from each other. It wasn't comfortable - none of this was - and it was only going to get worse from here. Killian reasoned they should probably get a move on while there was still daylight to burn.

"Let's just get this over with," Rumple said, beating Killian to the punch.

Killian looked at the tree that just two minutes ago got quite intimate with his spine. He thought back to the ledge they were trapped aside shortly before they landed here. Then, he turned to Rumple who was by now looking to him.

"Alright," Killian said. "Like before, I'm going to press your back to the tree and push us up form there. That okay?"

Rumple paused for a second, as if he was surprised by the gesture. To be fair, Killian supposed he shouldn't be surprised. He hadn't been the most gracious of cohorts today either.

"Yes," he seemed to settle on with a touch of hesitation. "Okay, let's get moving."

Once more, they rolled back to the tree, though more gently and with Rumple occupying Killian's prior spot. Killian pushed Rumple against the trunk, making a conscious effort to be just a little more gentle with his movements - if only to spare them both another spat. Slowly, he started stepping up, his arms grating sharply against the bark until finally, Killian was fully standing up again.

They both let out sighs of relief. For the first time in nearly half a day, some shred of normalcy and dignity returned to their lives...for about five seconds.

Then they realized their position once more.

How the HELL were they going to walk home like this?

And how long would it take?

Killian suspected that said answer was not one he was going to like.

Rumple seemed to already have an idea as to one of those question's answers. "Okay, lower me onto my feet," he instructed.

Killian obliged, but immediately regretted doing so. A feeling of anguish set in right in the center of his spine as soon as Rumple was settled on the ground. He grimaced and let out an unconscious wince. Rumple looked no happier with the arrangement, seemingly struggle just to see anything apart from Killian that was directly in front of him.

"Okay, let's try moving back," Killian said. He moved his feet first backwards from the tree and then Rumple moved his.

Not bad.

Not good either.

"Now let's turn." They started moving again, but the limitations of their position started to kick in with the tree no longer there to fall back on. The position was incredibly uncomfortable and difficult to move in. It required patience and a mutual understanding of their desired rhythm, neither of which they had. Rumple was moving too fast and Killian was moving too slow. They barely managed the turn, but then they tried walking towards Rumple.

Rumple's feet were once more too fast and Killian's too slow, but luck wasn't there this time to make up for their shoddy excuses for rhythm and balance.

All it took was one errant step for the pair to go tumbling down once more.

They landed on Rumple's back and Killian, not wanting a repeat of the last time that happened, quickly turned them onto their side. For a moment, the just laid atop the grass as they recovered from yet another painful fall.

"Not a great start," Killian assessed.

"No," Rumple concurred. "Not at all." They looked to the tree and then to each other.

Now they had to do that whole thing again.

Killian was a bit more successful this time at getting them up. It was still a hard process, but it was once more an effective one.

Upon thinking back to their last effort at walking, Killian decided there and then that they weren't about to try that abysmal attempt at walking again. Instead, he came up with another idea, once a bit less painful and taxing on both of them.

"Let me lead," Killian implored. Rumple didn't answer, and he took that as an agreement to his proposition.

On his own, Killian took a slow, careful step forward. It was incredibly wobbly and he almost didn't make it through the next one, but just managed to catch himself with the help of some of Rumple's movements. He took several more until they were beside the next closest tree.

A twig nearly had them, but Killian recovered just in time through a graceless bit of wiggling and commanding on his and Rumple's part to maintain their stance.

Upon finally finding some semblance of balance, Rumple and Killian looked around.

"We clearly didn't make it to the beach," Rumple commented.

"Not by a long shot," Killian agreed.

"So much for that plan of yours," Rumple snipped.

Killian glared at him. "I didn't see you suggesting anything better when we were flung into the ocean. And I told you there was a chance we'd lose to the current."

"Maybe we wouldn't have had you listened to me about the rocks," Rumple bit back.

"I could barely hear you over the ocean."

"More like your own stubbornness."

"Look who's talking. Had your stubbornness been allowed to win, we'd be at the bottom of the ocean right now. Let's just thank our gods we're still in Storybrooke."

Rumple looked peeved, but said nothing, gazing instead at the expansive forest beside them.

"How far off are we?" Killian asked.

"At least four, if not five miles from the town proper," Rumple groaned, something Killian quickly chorused with one of his own.

Killian took a deep breath. "And how long do you think it will take us to get there?"

"Considering how long it took us to get up and out of that brook, how bad those last few steps were, and the bumpiness of the woods...a day, at least," he assessed. "Maybe two."

"No," Killian moaned, trying through sheer force of denial to make it not so.

""Yes."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"How I wish that I were."

Killian sighed, squeezing his eyes shut with frustration. "Well, unless we're found, there's little we can do but walk ourselves back home."

"Kill me now," Rumple commiserated.

"And have to bring Belle your corpse? Not a chance, crocodile. Now come on, let's get a move on." Killian was about to take a step, when suddenly, Rumple spoke.

"Wait."

Killian exhaled far more roughly than he intended. "What?"

"You can't seriously expect us to travel like this," Rumple said, incredulity stretched across his face and words like a sheet of aluminum foil over a tray of leftover food.

Killian looked up and down - at least as well as he could - at how they stood. While he'd never deluded himself into thinking it was anything near normal, it was only now that he realized just how positively AWKWARD it was! Rumple's feet couldn't touch the ground and it made it look like Killian had a large baby strapped to his chest in a similar manner to how Belle held her son. It undoubtedly would've looked goofy to onlookers and as it stood, it was both humiliating and aggravating for them to endure.

Then again, Killian supposed that was Horace and Jasper's point in tying them up like this - to make their last moments as torturous as hell.

But the fact was that they had lived and now, it was quite literally their burden to bear.

"Given our circumstances, it's that or death," Killian replied. "I don't know about you, but I quite value my life."

"I'm not being carried," Rumple protested. Killian imagined that if he had use of his arms, they might be folded in front of him.

And Killian's, fueled by exasperation, would be at his hips.

"Well, seeing as how you can't lower yourself to the ground and our last attempts at me lowering you ended with us on the ground in a matter of seconds, unless you've got any better ideas — and trust me, I'd love to hear just about any alternative to this — then yes, you are being carried." Rumple growled, and taking that as the end of the matter, Killian started walking. "You do realize I hate this as much as you do, right?"

"I'd be disgusted if you didn't." From his backside, Killian could feel Rumple moving his feet up Killian's body.

"What are you doing?"

"If I've no use for my legs, I'm not just going to leave them dangling. So I'm putting them up."

That was all well and good, but it quickly stopped being so when Killian felt two feet pushing into his ass. The sudden shock of the feeling made Killian stumble, and despite trying to regain their balance, he was unable to.

"Well, can you not?" Killian growled as he picked his face up from the ground. Another groan escaped him as he realized that once more, they'd need to get back up again, something he was sure would be no more pleasant this time than any of the previous times had been.

And much to his aggravation, Rumple's feet started climbing up Killian's backside again.

"Stop," Killian commanded.

"If they're not dangling, they'll be out of our way while you walk," Rumple refuted.

Hearing the word 'our' being used so casually was torturous to Killians ears, an awful reminder of the long day that was to come.

Or possibly two days that were to come...

Killian groaned, for what had to be the eighth time in the span of maybe an hour.

"It's as you said," Rumple reminded him, "it's this or death and I know how you value your life. Now, come on, let's get back up."

They moved back towards the tree that had supported them last time. It was easier to get up this time, but easier was still by no means easy.

And if that weren't bad enough, once they were standing, Rumple, whose legs fell down during the climb back up, started moving his legs up Killian's again. Thankfully though, this time Rumple's legs were able to cling as far up as Killians waist, and only hit Killian's ass once along the way.

That said, it wasn't comfortable. None of this was. Now though, with Rumple's legs stacked on his waist, Killian felt even more of Rumple's weight on him. Not to mention, his legs now served as an additional bind, forcing even their hips that had been spared the initial bind together.

As if they weren't close enough...

"Let's just get this fresh Hell over with so we can end this awful adventure."

Having seemingly relented to his share of their misery, Rumple sighed. "Final question."

Killian stopped walking, exasperated. "What?" he half shouted.

"How are we going to use the bathroom?"

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Storybrooke's forests were never something Rumple felt intimidated by. He spent more than his fair share of time traversing them, both in his cursed and uncursed life and never found them too expansive to conquer.

But that no longer proved to be the case as he was bound by the wrists of another man who could walk at most maybe a quarter of a mile per hour balancing their shared weights. Now, the woods felt practically insurmountable. Every bump in the road was a test of their balance and every familiar looking patch of moss was a test of their patience and all of it only delayed their arrival home even further.

Hook's presence - unwitting for him and UNBEARABLE for Rumple - literally breathing down his neck as he did for Hook, made it all even worse. The only body part free of their embrace were their heads, but they clung close to each other as to not even worsen Hook's balance. They had both reluctantly accepted the fact that their chins - either directly or by their sides - would remain in a constant state of contact, whether they liked it or not.

And they definitely didn't.

Horace and Jasper had succeeded far better than they ever could've dreamed - Rumple and Hook may have lived, but this was some layer of Hell they had been thrust into.

If Rumple found them, he'd get his revenge - hell, he might even invite Hook to join the party.

Most of the day thus far had the two men walking in silence. Neither would describe it as comfortable considering everything that happened before - including a bathroom trip that was awkward to say the least and downright painful to say the most, leaving both of them unable to so much as look at the other for the following hour - but the silence was also far from unwanted.

And thankfully, after growing more accustomed to the feeling of their combined forms, Killian was able to pick up the pace, granted though, only a little. Like before, their balance left a lot to be desired and while Killian could hold himself and Rumple up well enough, the strain of such a feat required frequent pauses to catch their breath.

And frequent falls.

Rumple especially hated the falls.

Still, it was an improvement all the same and neither was about to argue with that.

But that didn't mean there weren't plenty of things to despise, and oh could Rumple go on a tirade if prompted.

Relying on Hook for so much of their journey home was quite literally a living nightmare. Rumple was acclimated to a large level of independence throughout much of his life thanks to his magic, domestic skills, and affluence, but right now, that was all stripped away. His feet were helplessly too short to allow him the dignity of walking alongside Hook, forcing him to allow Hook to lead the way while he just went along for the ride. He gave Hook directions, and thankfully, Hook took them all, but that was only because he had the power to do so and the basic competence to accept that Rumple simply knew better. Apart from that though, he was trapped.

And oh, what a situation to be trapped in. Every one of his senses was flared up with some manner of aggravating substances. His nose was entrenched in the smells of the forest, many of which were stuck on their clothes as a consequence of their multiple, multiple falls. His mouth still housed the bitter sting of salt water, even hours later. His eyes were caught between either looking at the endless forest they still had to slowly make their way through and Hook's face, neither of which were pleasant choices. The sound of Hook's deep breaths and the occasional annoying tweets from birds plagued his ears. And all he could touch was the body of his adversary, who he was forced to practically cuddle with through every single miserable step they took together.

All of that paired with the constant state of boredom the day had brought made the entire affair simply maddening. Engaging with Hook for about anything besides directions and was just about the last thing he wanted to commence, and Hook seemed in no hurry to start a conversation either, leaving him with little choice apart from looking out into the repetitive distance. Trees extended out as far as he could see and while there were small occasions of birds and squirrels passing the pair by, it was by no means long enough to entertain him in any way. That silence between them, for as merciful as it was solely because the only other party around was Hook, condemned him to being alone with his thoughts, which simply looped around to him thinking about every little annoying thing about this extended test of his very sanity.

How Rumple hadn't completely lost control was a mystery to even him.

He'd wanted to lash out - at the start, he did. He yelled at Hook to stop breathing so loudly and to walk faster and Hook would waste no time telling him to shut up. But every time it happened, Hook lost his balance, and the two of them were treated to a bone-rustling trip to the dirty ground and the frustrating and painful process of standing up again. After the fourth time - which funnily enough, at least to someone, came from a command to stop falling so much - Rumple finally decided it would be in his best interest to hold his tongue, no matter how crazy it drove him.

After all, for all he could do, Rumple figured he may as well have been in a straight jacket on top of it all.

So when a fork in their path at last came, Rumple found himself of all things relieved to see it. It was an excuse to think, and as much as Rumple maligned the prospect, it was an excuse to talk.

"What direction do we go next?" Hook asked.

Rumple looked around. He hated to admit it, but he wasn't sure. Both paths were going in the same general direction, but they did diverge even further after a point to go in completely different directions. Should they take the wrong one, correcting themselves could take hours and Rumple honestly didn't know which was the correct one to take. Then, just when he was about to admit his failing, he spotted something. To an ordinary eye, it wouldn't appear to be much, but if Rumple could say anything about himself, it was that he was he was far from ordinary.

"Over there," he said, pointing as best he could over to what he saw with his head in lieu of fingers and hands. Hook turned around to face what Rumple was aiming towards.

"What is it?"

"That lump of scat by that pile of leaves." Rumple knew the prospect was odd to say the least, and he could predict Hook's responses seconds before they showed themselves.

With a clenched, impatient jaw, Hook narrowed his eyes. "You can't be serious."

"You need to get me close enough so I can figure out what animal made it," Rumple urged, ignoring Hook's protests.

"Why?" Hook practically whined.

"Because then I can find out where we're near based on what they've eaten."

Hook was clearly not convinced. "I won't do it."

But Rumple was nothing if not stubborn, at least as much as Hook was, though he'd never outright admit it. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he threatened.

"We'll do it NO way." Hook started to walk along the rightmost path, and Rumple, knowing no better solution and content enough with the warning he gave beforehand, shrugged his shoulders.

"Alright - hard way it is then."

With that, using all of his strength, Rumple pushed himself towards Hook.

Hook may have gotten more used to their position, but his balance was still shoddy at best.

"Rumple!" Hook cried, just barely able to regain his balance.

But Rumple wasn't about to give up.

Once more, he pushed.

And with a thud, they fell.

Immediately, Rumple started pushing them towards the scat.

That became a challenge when Hook started pushing them in the opposite direction.

"What the hell, crocodile?!" Hook shouted

"I'm trying to get us out of this mess," Rumple snarled.

"I'm not smelling shit!"

"Then I'll do it!"

"I'm still going to have to face it!"

"Oh, get over yourself!"

They struggled against one another and fortunately for Rumple, while Hook often had more physical prowess between the two of them, hours of walking with Rumple's additional weight had tuckered him out, allowing Rumple to secure the upper hand.

Rumple began rolling their bodies in the direction of the scat. He could see Hook glaring at him the whole while, but this was their best hope of getting out of this disaster. If Hook wanted to pout about it all the way from here to Storybrooke, he could for all Rumple cared, but he'd get them to that scat first.

When they arrived, Rumple leaned in and took a whiff of the scat. As expected, it smelled horrible, but Rumple was well used to the stench of lanolin, so it was hardly the worst thing to ever pass through his nose. But that very stench, for as awful as it was, confirmed what he was hoping it would.

"It's fresh," he assessed.

Hook scoffed with disgust so obvious, it could rival the fact that the grass is green. "No kidding."

From there, Rumple examined the scat's outward appearance and texture. He looked for little bits of food and an overall consistency to fill in the blanks of what he still wanted to know.

One long look was all he needed.

"Our furry friend just treated himself to a nice helping of pokeweed berries."

Much to Rumple's surprise, Hook grinned at the bit of information.

"Thank God," Hook said, sighing. "Finally, some food."

Rumple shook his head. "Afraid not. Pokeweed berries are poisonous to humans."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Oh, how I wish that I was."

"So where do we go from here?"

"Those squirrels nest to the opposite side of town. Once we get back up, veer left."

With that, they rolled back to the nearest tree and started inching their way up once more before going left.

From there, the crossed paths became simpler to navigate. Much to Hook's clear appreciation, Rumple could navigate from there without the use of scat. It didn't make the trip much better, but the improved sense of direction did makes things better nonetheless and in their situation, it was honestly the most he or Hook could ask for.

Hours passed. To Rumple, they felt like days, but he knew in fact that they were indeed hours that were creeping forward like snails carrying anvils on their backs.

Rumple looked up at the leaf-patched sky. One skill he had retained from his previous life in the Enchanted Forest was the ability to tell the time by means of the sun's trajectory. So he used that long underutilized ability to get some semblance of understanding where and when they were going. With no means of looking at his watch and no desire to ask Hook to do yet another thing for him, he had actively started checking the time this way since they woke up. It was ten in the morning when that happened and it was about eleven when they finally started steadily - and oh, so slowly - walking through the woods. Now, it was around four and the time was beginning to show itself through his fellow captive's abilities.

He could feel Hook's endurance draining with every fibre of his hostaged being. Hook's speed, may have increased for a bit earlier in the day, but Rumple was starting to feel it fall once more, now closer to when they began their travels. His breaths were becoming more labored and the tension in his muscles were thinning.

Hook had taken pauses over the past few hours, but they were relatively short and he hadn't given his legs a single break apart from their encounter with the scat, choosing to lean them against a tree. Rumple couldn't blame him for not wanting to spare the time forcing them to get back up once more, but now, the consequences were starting to prove too much to push through. If he didn't take a break soon, his stamina would deplete itself.

Of course though, Hook was a stubborn ass. Rumple had several lifetimes of experience to attest to that and today had given him by far the most instances of it.

This was going to be anything but easy.

But then again, what HAD been easy since this whole mess started?

"Stop," Rumple commanded.

Hook obliged, but turned to him with a skeptical air about him. "What's wrong?"

"You need to take a break."

As Rumple expected, he received an incredulous look for his reasoning.

"No, I don't," Hook denied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. For Hook, to Rumple's chagrin, it likely WAS the most natural thing in the world.

Rumple gave him a strict look. "You've been walking nonstop for hours now and like it or not, you're getting weaker. I can feel it. Take a break."

"I'm fine, Rumple."

"Look," Rumple said, not letting up for a second, "we can either do this the easy way or the hard way. Now, after our last disagreement, I'd imagine you'd opt for the former, so you best sit down before I make you, and we both know right now, as per usual, I can."

Hook clenched his jaw as he stared at Rumple, as if he was trying to find a reason to say no beyond his own resolve to get out of here.

Rumple would be lying if he said he took no satisfaction in seeing Hook relent.

"Ten minutes and we're back up," Hook said as he started to walk them towards the nearest tree.

"Thirty," Rumple shot back.

A huff pushed itself out of Hook's nose.

"Twenty," he offered.

Rumple smirked. "Deal."

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Today...hadn't been the best day of Killian's life.

That was the MILDEST way he could put things.

For years, he'd considered Rumple to be a plight upon this world.

Right now though, he was a plight on Killian's entire personal being.

Rumple...was a pest. He had been a relatively quiet pest today, all things considered, but a pest nonetheless.

Killian could tell on the inside he was seething though, but that was fine because he was seething too.

He had carried heavier things and people than Rumple - he'd just never had to carry them for nearly as long.

The sun was a good measure of the day, and by his calculations, it had been four hours since they started this journey from the very bowels of hell. That was four awkward, painful, disgusting, quiet hours between himself and Rumple.

He'd been to the literal Underworld and it wasn't a quarter as bad as everything he'd endured today.

Rumple had badgered him into taking a twenty minute break and though the last thing he'd do was say it to his companion's face, Killian had to admit that it was one sorely needed.

It was only upon sitting down that he realized just how much the day had taken its toll on his body. Everything ached. His legs felt as if he'd spent the last four hours in a chain gang and each and every one of his muscles felt like they were comprised of little red balloons. Only now could he hear how deep his breaths had become and only now could he hope to reclaim some sort of equilibrium in his lungs. Opposite the rest of his body, while Killian couldn't see his arms and hand, he could feel the blood that was only now starting to clot dripping down him and the stinging pain that attempting to move or even soothe them with the free part of his arm caused.

Killian closed his eyes, a shallow attempt to lick his proverbial wounds in any way possible. In truth, it did him little good. With Rumple pressed right up to him, everything not only ached, but continued to suffer under the pressure of his fellow captive's weight.

The break also afforded Killian the first bit of mental freedom he was afforded since waking up. All of their trudgings had imposed upon Killian a responsibility to keep them moving and vertical as best as he could. Few steps allowed for his mind to wander, for every inch of the woods came with its own dangers to the two of them. There were twigs and rocks to be avoided, paths to stay on, and hills and slopes to manage. Walking was a job that oddly enough one of the hardest he'd ever had the misfortune to do in his life.

Still, if that focus thrust upon Killian had done one thing for him, it allowed him to be distracted from the rest of his body - and he wasn't even referring to Rumple, or at least not strictly. One day without food and water was bad enough, but when one was also forced to perform feats of physical strength such as what he had to do, it was even worse. His tongue still had remnants of the ocean's salt in it, but that only served to make him thirstier and how his stomach hadn't rumbled yet when his last meal was a burger from yesterday's lunch was just as much a mystery to him as that 'Snappy-Chatty' app Henry sometimes went on about.

And now that he was temporarily relieved of his responsibilities, his body was free to unleash its wrath of deprivation upon him.

Rumple himself wasn't even capable of such wrath, even on his worst days.

"Any chance of water coming up soon?" The words left his mouth before he could even hope to control them. In truth, while he didn't like admitting weaknesses to Rumple, he didn't care enough to hold it in, especially if there was hope of filling that need.

"Not on our path, unfortunately."

Stupid hopes.

"What about food?"

"Yes, but we've still quite a ways to go before we approach it."

Killian groaned openly. "I feel like my stomach is about to cannibalize my liver."

Rumple snickered maliciously. "Well, don't go doing that. I can't imagine Miss Swan would be too happy if after all that pesky surviving of yours, you succumb to alcohol poisoning. Can't say I'd be too disappointed, though."

And just like that, Killian felt his eyes succumbing not to alcohol poisoning, but instead to a hearty roll.

How long was left until Rumple let him get back up?

Too long, especially when he was thinking about his hunger and even more so when he was stuck to HIM, the very man coercing him to stay here and do nothing but think about his hunger.

Speaking of the proverbial devil, Killian realized that bit of bickering had been the most they'd spoken in hours.

And upon catching Rumple's eye looking at him in a way that expected a response or at least another prompt to speak, Killian had a feeling Rumple didn't want to be done.

And much to Killian's chagrin, he realized that he didn't want to be done either.

But if Rumple wanted to say something, why didn't he just say it?

Then again, Killian reminded himself that convenient silence was all but Rumple's calling card.

The quiet they'd shared thus far today served its purpose of keeping them from killing each other well, but if they were to be trapped in this standstill, Killian would forego it in favor of doing just about anything to take his mind off his body's seamingly ceaseless turmoil.

And as the woods quickly proved themselves to be about as interesting as a glass of tepid water, any sort of entertainment was going to come from talking, and the only person for miles who he could talk to that could actually talk back was Rumple.

Bloody hell.

How the hell did Rumple come out the better of the two options when compared to silence?

Who knew, but now, Killian was made painfully aware that if he wanted any kind of a break that wouldn't lead him closer to the brink of madness, he'd need to find something to talk about with Rumple, no matter the result.

Thinking about it now, Killian had to wonder a bit what Rumple's day must've been like. If a mere few minutes of a devout attention to their shared quiet and physical pain was enough to bother Killian, what were four hours comprised of so much quiet between them for Rumple? Apart from their confrontation over the scat and Rumple's occasional directions, they'd hardly exchanged two words to each other over the course of their day, and both of those came at Killian's prompting. And while Rumple was a key part of his balancing, he likely required a lot less focus than Killian was forced to take on. Sure, he knew Rumple was no stranger to time alone - after all, who outside of the victims of his deals would've willingly spent time with him in his more crocodile-like form - but he had his magic back then, or at least freedom. Here, the most he had to enthrall him were the very woods that were currently doing nothing for Killian. What must it have been like to go so long without any real stimulation?

Well, it was probably just a different kind, though likely equally awful, type of misery in line with what Killian's day had been.

And Killian had to confess that he sympathized with that.

Admitting it was just as hard as admitting that the demand for a break was well-timed, but Killian did appreciate the effort on Rumple's part to make sure he took one in the first place. Was it likely out of completely selfish desires? Undeniably, but Killian would be absolutely lying if he said he couldn't see a scenario where Rumple pushed him to his absolute limit and then mocked him once that limit ran him dry or yelled at him to push onwards, no matter his exhaustion.

Perhaps Rumple had considered those courses of action or something equally as spiteful, but even if he did, at the end of the day, he made the better choice, and Killian, even with his abundance of doubt towards Rumple concerning just about everything he did, could acknowledge that.

And perhaps it was time for Killian to try to return the favor.

If Rumple could be called one thing, it would be a stubborn ass. If he didn't want to expose a desire that he thought he had reason to hide, he damn well wouldn't. And talking to Killian was no doubt for him an admission of a boredom and loneliness that Killian would wager his life that Rumple would sooner die than confess, especially to Killian of all people. Even without looking Rumple directly in the face, Killian could tell from the looks he caught that both of those desires were present, reluctantly so, but present all the same, and they would remain so for as long as he refused to say something.

However, if Killian talked to him, yes, he was confident that Rumple would talk back. It wasn't necessarily something he wanted, but compared to the prospect of spending the next fifteen or so minutes with nothing but his hunger pangs and sore muscles to focus on, it wasn't the worst of options.

Well, if talking was truly his only option to fill the time, he may as well bring up the only thing that bound their struggle for survival, even more than the ropes that surrounded their conjoined limbs.

"What do you think they're doing right now?" Killian asked, turning to Rumple.

With a raised brow, Rumple stared back.

"Who?"

"Our families," Killian elaborated. "Emma and Henry, Belle and Gideon. We've been gone for about a day now. They've undeniably noticed our absence."

Rumple looked at him for a moment, as if trying to dissect some foul motive of Killian's. Whatever he was looking for, he didn't seem to find it or was at least too exhausted to try any harder, so with a sigh, he spoke.

"No doubt looking for us," he said. "But I can't imagine they'll have all that much luck."

Killian could surmise why pretty easily, both in Rumple's case as well as his own.

"I take it you never talked of Jasper and Horace to Emma before?" Rumple continued.

"Just as confidently as I can say you've never discussed them with Belle."

Rumple frowned, but not bitterly.

"You should know the feeling of shame just as well as I do," he said, "especially when it comes to deeds long since passed to the point of near irrelevancy. Why expose them to that darkness if you don't have to?" It was a rhetorical question - Killian wasn't stupid - but if living amongst heroes had taught him anything, it was that some rhetorical questions did, in fact, have answers.

"Because eventually, as we both know, it all comes back one way or another."

The last thing Killian expected Rumple to do was concede to his point.

That made the fact that he did damn near shocking.

"Forget the Underworld," Rumple said instead. "The world of the living is where the true ghosts reside."

"Until we go there, that is," Killian pointed out, somewhat jestfully.

Rumple scoffed, though it was removed from the condescending tone that it often was delivered with. "I suppose you're not wrong. After all, if Horace and Jasper still wanted revenge after all this time, and they were foolish enough to go after the Dark One, even if I'd escaped them in life, they'd have come after me in death. What else would they have to live for?"

"Besides a lackluster chimney cleaning service that was so underwhelming, it actually managed to hide in plain sight from us for years."

"Give them credit though - they know damn well how to punish their adversaries."

If Killian ever agreed to a single thing Rumplestiltskin ever said, it would be that.

They sighed.

"This day has been nothing short of hell, hasn't it?" Killian commiserated.

"I guess we'd know that better than anyone else."

Killian snorted, neither entirely positively or negatively. "Right you are."

They spent the next few minutes sitting in a silence that for the first time was more comfortable than uncomfortable, or at least a halfway point between comfort and discomfort. It was the most Killian figured he could expect.

If nothing else, they could at least bond over their shared torment.

After a few minutes, Rumple spoke up.

"Let's get going," he said.

"Aye," Killian returned, readying to climb them up the tree's trunk once more.

'Finally' is what he'd wanted to say, but he held back.

Theirs was an uneasy truce and, some level of solace had been reached after hours of ceaseless seething on both of their parts.

It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to let it last a little bit longer.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

The latter half of the day wasn't much different than the first half.

Even after their conversation during their break, talking didn't pick up between them afterwards. Bits of small talk about the weather were exchanged on the breaks that Rumple and Hook decided would be regularly taken for ten minutes once an hour. But apart from that, their speed, balance, and silence stayed pretty much the same.

It was monotonous, but the slowly setting sun and the emergence of a couple of nocturnal creatures helped Rumple starve off the boredom somewhat.

A darker shade of gold that bordered on a burnt orange color painted the woods a striking color, one made more brilliant as he and Hook entered a small clearing.

Hook began to direct them to a tree across the way. Rumple expected him to keep going, but when Hook was close enough to the tree, he simply leaned against it and started scouting out the land.

"Time for a break?" Rumple looked to the sun. Sure enough, it looked to be about eight, so it made sense.

Unfortunately, he was wrong.

Hook shook his head. "No," he stated. "This is as far as we'll go today. We'll need to camp out here tonight."

"Are you serious?" Rumple hoped against hope that such an inquiry might make Hook reconsider.

Alas, much like most of the past two days, he had no such luck.

"As the dead," Hook confirmed, sealing their fates. "It gets dark in these woods at night and without a flashlight or a lantern, we'll walk our way to our deaths - that or get hopelessly lost. This journey's gone long enough already without any extensions on our parts. Let's settle down while we have a safe clearing to work with."

In truth, Rumple in hindsight didn't know what he was expecting. The matter of daylight and the consequences of proceeding on after its end was something he disregarded. When it came to their situation, he was prepared to get out of it as quickly as possible, let caution be damned.

Hook didn't seem to agree.

And while Rumple was willing to acknowledge that such a line of thinking was a bit naive, he wasn't about to be too happy about being proven wrong, nor the prospect of them spending yet another night asleep by each other's sides.

"Just what I need - to freeze my ass off in the forest," Rumple muttered.

"Well, as loathe as I am to admit it, we'll be sharing body heat, so we shan't fear growing too cold."

Rumple groaned.

"I think I prefered drowning in the ocean."

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

After the slow and awkward process of lowering themselves to the ground, Rumple and Killian agreed that they'd best sleep on Killian's back.

Sleeping on Rumple's back wouldn't work out. With Rumple deprived of his magic and given Killian's weight relative to him, it would make breathing on his part damn near impossible and although the idea of crushing his adversary made for a fun thought, he had a feeling that if Rumple actually died while in his charge, he wouldn't be welcomed home so warmly when he at last escaped this wretched forest, nor would he be guaranteed to leave at all without Rumple's aid navigating the twisted paths.

Sleeping on their side initially seemed like the best option, but neither man liked the idea of sleeping with half of their face in the dirt, bringing that notion to a quick end.

So with no other viable choice, it once again fell upon Killian's back to support them.

"Comfy?" he asked.

"No."

"Me neither."

That was about as much of a good night as either man was about to offer the other, so Killian did their best to leave it at that.

But then came the matter of actually sleeping.

Sleeping in their current position was about as comfortable as sleeping in a cabinet - that was to say, not at all.

Killian was uncomfortable laying on his back, Rumple made no secret about how much hated facing the dirt, and neither's neck was comfortable as they were forced by their situation to crane it to one side.

Fearing a crick in his neck, Killian started to shift to the other side.

That would've been all well and good had Killian not moved to do the very same thing at the very same time.

Just as both were about to protest the other's action at the halfway point of their trips, their lips thrust into each other, locking tightly against each other.

The unintentional kiss lingered for a couple of seconds, albeit the reason being purely out of shock, before both men pulled back, desperately moving in the opposite direction from each other. When they landed in their respective destination, neither wasted time before letting their disgust out, with groans and obscenities quickly filling the night's air.

Of all the people he could've accidentally kissed...how did it end up being RUMPLE?

Through some likely subconscious but still moronic move, Rumple pushed Killian away with his body, but the subsequent and admittedly inevitable slam back into each other almost resulted in another locking of their lips. It was only Killian's premature swerve right that prevented the repeat offense from being anything more than a cheek marred in much the same manner - not that Rumple was about to thank him for it.

"This is unbearable," Rumple snarled, lurching through the statement.

"I can guarantee you, today's been no picnic for me either." Killian spat.

The tension that had temporarily left them throughout much of the afternoon's latter half came back with the force of a freight train.

They both took deep breaths, trying to regain their composures.

But Killian found it hard to do so, for one question - rhetorical in nature, but one he wanted an answer for nonetheless - banged in his head like a drum.

Of all people, why did it have to be RUMPLE?

And as he asked over and over again for the upteenth time today, he knew that question stretched far beyond one simple kiss.

It was everything - the bind, the escape in the ocean, the pain, the walking, the hunger and thirst, and every other argument and inconvenience that plagued this accursed day.

And it was everything from before too.

If it had been anyone else, maybe it wouldn't have been so terrible.

But it wasn't anyone else - it was Rumple.

Killian felt his anger flare up, but pushed himself away from letting it out.

Regardless of what he wanted, yes - it was Rumple and nobody else he had to work with.

Only together could they get back home to their families.

Only with his help would they escape this nightmare.

Reminding himself of that helped...not fully, but enough for the moment.

Rumple shuddered and groaned. "Well, that was the second worst kiss of my life."

"I promise you, Rumple: The sentiment is quite returned," Killian said through a series of splutters to the dirt at his side. "What I'd give for a bottle of mouthwash right now." Then realizing something, he paused and quirked his eyebrow. "Second?" he asked.

"Zelena," Rumple sneered. "At least the one we just had was an abysmal accident."

"To be fair," Killian pointed out, "I'm also an astounding kisser. You merely got a sneak peek of the real show." Killian wiggled his eyebrows jokingly.

Look, the night was tense and if Killian was to survive this, he needed to allow himself the occasional harmless joke.

Rumple wasn't amused.

"I'm going to bed before this ego trip of yours goes any further," Rumple said flatly as he closed his eyes tighter than their current embrace was.

"Fine by me," Killian sighed, settling into his new spot and shutting his own eyes as the pull of sleep started to clasp at him.

Things were good. Their night had been tough so far, but they'd somehow managed to get through it without strangling each other - there had to be something said for that.

Now all they needed to do was sleep and tomorrow, they'd hopefully be ready for anything.

...That sentiment lasted for all of two minutes.

Then Killian heard a sound, and with that, the embrace of sleep broke off and his eyes snapped open like blinds in the summer.

The sound, it was like a musical instrument, but a bad one. It made a shrill noise that altered between two notes.

Others of the same rhythm joined in seconds later.

Soon, several could be heard in the spaces surrounding them.

Killian looked to Rumple for answers, only to see his face scrunched up with his own sounds leaving his mouth.

"Rumple, what is that?"

"Oh no," Rumple groaned.

"Rumple, what is that?" Killian repeated.

He didn't get an answer, merely an extended groan instead.

"Rumple, what the HELL is that?"

Rumple sighed and opened his eyes. "That is the call of dozens of squirrels in heat."

"Oh no." Killian was soon dissolving from words into his own elongated groan.

This had to be a nightmare. Killian had to already be asleep.

But no, just like all of today, he was wide awake, and Rumple's next dry and clearly resigned words gave final confirmation to yet another insufferable part of this already insufferable day.

"Welcome to mating season."

()()()()()()()()()()()()

How the HELL did Emma Swan manage to share the same bed as her oaf of a husband every single night?

That was a question that Rumple could only try to guess at as yet another snore left Hook's mouth.

It took about a half hour, but finally, the overpowering mating sounds of the squirrels started to dwindle, and Hook was able to fall asleep.

Rumple would've liked to do so himself, but Hook had neglected to let him in on the fact that he snored louder than all of the mating sounds their ears had been assaulted with COMBINED.

He refused to ignore it - not after everything today had wrought on him - the all out attack from Hook and Mother Nature itself on his senses, the helplessness, the boredom, the hunger, the pain, and everything else between them - it was all too much.

So no, he wasn't about to accept snoring on top of all of that.

Rumple pulled back his head as far as it could go and with all the strength he could muster, violently jabbed Hook's neck.

Hook was up immediately. A glare coursed through his eyes. If looks could kill, Rumple was sure he'd be in the ground with two holes through his eyes and hair.

But Rumple didn't care.

"What the HELL?" Hook hissed upon opening his eyes.

"You're SNORING," Rumple grunted.

Hook's glare only deepend, his resolve clearly still very much present. "And you're DROOLING, but I'm not forcing you up!"

"I don't drool."

"Tell that to my soggy cheekbone." Hook growled.

Rumple huffed his response.

"YOU'RE disgusting," Hook sneered.

"And YOU'RE no better."

Hook shouted nothing in particular into the air and then turned his face away from Rumple.

"Go. To. Hell," he grit.

"With you snoring, I'm already there."

"I'm going back to bed. If you wake me up again, I promise you you'll pay."

"How so?" Rumple snipped. "In case you forgot, I'M the only one who can navigate us to the outskirts of these woods!"

Hook snapped his head back to Rumple. "And in case YOU forgot, I'M the only one who can carry us there!"

Neither responded, simply seething as they violently turned to face the opposite side of each other.

But it didn't matter. Hook was right beside Rumple and Rumple was right beside Hook. They didn't even need to so much as move a muscle to feel the other pressed against nearly every limb of their body.

It was enough to make Rumple's skin crawl.

And their journey was maybe half over.

By Rumple's estimation, they made it about two miles today over the course if the eight hours they traveled. There were at least another two to get through before they made it back to Storybrooke.

That meant there would be at least another eight hours of slowly crawling through the placid, yet still painfully difficult to manage forest.

That meant there would be at least another eight hours of physical torment plaguing most every part of their bodies..

And of course, that meant there would be at least another eight hours mercilessly strapped to Hook, with nowhere else to go and their truce quite possibly now thrown to the wayside.

What had he done to deserve this?

...Well, if he were being honest with himself, that answer involved an awfully long list of deeds.

And if he were being even MORE honest with himself, waking up Hook the way he did was just the most recent of those deeds. That had launched them in this most recent and harshest of spats.

Neither of them chose to be in this situation.

Rumple CHOSE to do that.

Bouts of bickering aside and everything else considered, they worked well enough together. Their quest was anything but harmonious, but their progress wasn't bad, and in the small instances where they'd done right by the other, that progress almost approached what could be called 'good.'

Still though, they had to contend with that bickering and everything else that made it all so difficult.

It was so much.

It had been too much, really. Each and every factor of contention - and numerous, they were - were all quite literally in his face at all hours of the day and had been building and building and building.

So could he be blamed for snapping at yet another one of them?

Rumple didn't think he was fast to anger, but he was only human all the same.

Maybe not in most scenarios, that snapping would've been fair, but the fact of the matter was that Rumple took the fight to Hook, and over something that wasn't even his fault. Hook couldn't control his snoring no more than he could control his...drooling.

He still refused to believe he actually drooled...No...

Still, it didn't matter. Hook hadn't smacked him with his head for it, ruining the one moment of blessed peace this living nightmare offered - Rumple did.

...And maybe, just maybe, despite how much he hated Hook, Rumple actually felt some remorse over that fact and wanted to right it.

Damnit, what was living in this town DOING to him?

Since when did he actually care about the feelings of his enemies?

Well, no matter. He knew he had to stop their fight in its tracks.

He only hoped Hook was still awake.

"Hook-"

"Rumple-"

Rumple stopped as he heard words exit another's mouth at the same time as his own.

Well, unless the squirrels had learned to speak English via-mating, there was only one other person around who could talk to him…

He turned to face Hook, who was already facing him once more.

Hook sighed and took it upon himself to go first. "We need to stop this," he said. "This situation's terrible enough as it is. We're already literally at each other's throats; we don't need to figuratively be too."

"No, we don't," Rumple concurred.

"I'm just as guilty of it as you," Hook continued, "but if we don't bring it to an end-"

"We'll never get home," Rumple finished.

"Aye."

The two of them sighed once more, now in perfect sync. Much to likely both of their chagrins, they were getting better at that.

Rumple then took a deep breath. It wasn't everyday he said this to anyone, and it was nothing short of a full blown anomaly that he was saying it to Hook. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have woken you."

Hook, for all that he said before, seemed positively shocked by the apology, as if he never expected to actually hear those words leave Rumple's mouth. He looked at Rumple like he just grew a third head and if he weren't in the midst of an apology, he'd probably laugh at that.

But the fact remained that he WAS in the midst of an apology, so Rumple took Hook's silence as an opportunity to continue.

"We need each other out here. I know you hate it and you know I hate it too. But there's no way around it. As long as we're trapped in this accursed forest, we're all each other has, and like you said, neither of us has any business making things even worse than they already are. I did...and I'm sorry."

Damnit, there really WAS some actual truth to that.

Fucking heroes...

Rumple waited for Hook's response. As Rumple spoke, Hook seemed to get over his shock, his face now neutral.

Hook sighed. "Horace and Jasper are real bastards, aren't they?"

"Indeed they are." Rumple couldn't say for certain, but the way Hook spoke gestured to him the words 'apology accepted.'

"There's a lot of bad blood between us."

Hook scoffed. "That's putting it mildly."

"I won't ignore it."

"I CAN'T ignore it," Hook remarked, an unmistakable sharpness in his tone. For a moment, Rumple felt a swelling of tension in Hook's body and worried that there might be a chance of another argument starting up.

Of course, it seemed like while reaching the conclusion of their mutual need for harmony was something he could say, actually putting it into practice was difficult.

He'd call Hook out as a hypocrite if he didn't feel the exact same way.

Still, at least they were owning up to it. There had to be something that could be said for that.

"Then let's not," Rumple resolved. "Let's just agree to starve off that animosity as best we can until we get home."

"Just another reason to want to get out of here," Hook said. "But I suppose we've got to try."

"I'll do better if you will."

Hook didn't smile, but Rumple felt the tension recede like the end of an ocean's tide.

"That's one deal I'll take with no complaints." Hook then smirked at him. "Promise not to hit me awake if I snore?"

Rumple silently snorted. "Sure."

"Good. Then I won't wake you if you drool."

"I don't drool," Rumple insisted.

"You do."

Rumple and Hook exchanged a stare, one now far less vitriolic than before.

Hook turned away from the stare to yawn and one of Rumple's followed but one second afterwards.

"Let's get some sleep," he said tiredly. "We can discuss the matter of your drool tomorrow."

"My non-existent drool, you mean," Rumple stated, allowing his eyes and body slink closer to sleep once more.

Who knew for certain what tomorrow would bring. If Rumple had learned anything from Storybrooke - and judging by that last conversation, he learned far more than that -he knew never to expect anything.

But as he succumbed to his desires for rest, he felt content in the knowledge that both physically and mentally, they were headed in the right direction.

#ouat #once upon a time #killian jones #rumple #Rumplestiltskin #golden hook #captain crocodile #my fanfiction

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