He was dead.

Henry tucked his arms under his head, staring up at the ceiling in wonderment. Dead. Killian Jones was dead.

He supposed he should feel something: some kind of loss, some kind of pain—maybe a regret that he'd never made much of an effort to get to know the man. But really, all he felt was an overwhelming sense of apathy.

Killian Jones was dead. So what?

He knew what loss felt like; he knew what grief was. He had a scrapbook hidden in his floor boards that held the precious few photos he had taken with Neal; a few napkins Neal had absently doodled on that Henry had swiped without him realizing. At the time, he didn't know why he'd saved them, but he was glad he did: to have something of his father's, something so trivial and everyday, was like having a moment of his life pressed safely between two panes of glass. And Henry would have given anything to have just another moment with his father.

The door opened downstairs, startling him out of his stupor. Booted footsteps scuffed in—Emma's footsteps. Henry propped himself up on his elbows, a slight frown etched on his face as he listened to the voices downstairs.

"Emma," Snow said, surprised. "Where've you been? I called you—"

"At the house," Emma interrupted.

Henry flicked his eyes upward derisively. The house. Killian had made a rather lame attempt to bond with Henry over finding a house for him and Emma. Henry had agreed, because at that moment, Emma was the Dark One: imagining a future where she wasn't was the only thing that gave him a reprieve from the heartbreak of losing his mother.

Although if he was being honest with himself, he'd lost his mother long before that. Right around the time he'd lost his father.

Emma hadn't been the same since Neal died: she'd lost that little spark of mischief in her eyes, the conspiratorial smile that only Henry knew about. They'd drifted apart: Emma had thrown herself into Killian's arms, and Henry had thrown himself into a mission to find the Author. A mission that had been meant to rewrite Regina's happy ending…but also Henry's. A hidden agenda, to write his father's life back.

"Can't be done," the Sorcerer had told him. "It happened in reality. The Author has no control over the reality in this world."

He'd shattered the pen. It was useless, no point in keeping it.

Emma's voice drifted back in his ear as the memories receded. "…heard voices," she was saying. "The dagger—it was speaking to me."

"What do you mean, it was speaking to you?" The skepticism in Regina's voice was almost tangible. "You're not even the Dark One anymore, what connection do you have to the dagger?"

"I don't understand it myself," Emma admitted. "That's why I went to Gold."

"And?" David asked.

"And…we talked."

She was clearly hiding something, Henry realized. He frowned deeper, and swung his legs out of bed. Whatever was happening, he wanted to be there for it. He was sick of standing on the sidelines and watching his family fade away, piece by piece. He wasn't a helpless little kid, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let them treat him like one.

"You're going to Hell?" Snow said, just as he jumped the last few steps and strolled into the kitchen, hands in pockets.

"The Underworld."

"Right, because the distinction is important," David scoffed.

"I'm getting him back," Emma said, looking at them desperately. Henry squirmed: he hated that look on her face, the neediness in her eyes. The Emma Swan he knew hadn't needed anybody: she had been driven by the need to protect, by her hero instincts. This Emma was unrecognizable. She was seemingly without air, without life; she looked withdrawn and sickly, like an addict hungering after a fix.

"This isn't fair to Killian," Emma went on."Gold tricked him. Everything he gave up was based on a lie."

"Grandpa didn't lie to him," Henry heard himself say. "What are you talking about?"

Everyone turned to look at him: Snow and David with pity in their eyes, and Emma with defensiveness.

"He siphoned the Darkness back into the dagger, and tethered it to himself," she said. "He's the Dark One again. Killian sacrificed himself to put an end to the Darkness, and Gold—"

"Took advantage of that, but he didn't lie to him," Henry said flatly. "Killian was going to drag us all to Hell, and now you want to do the same thing?"

"Henry—" Snow began.

"Why do we have to go to the Underworld?" he demanded.

He already knew the answer, and he knew it set off a dangerous rage in him—and he knew he needed to hear her say it, because otherwise, he wouldn't be able to actually believe it. She hadn't been there for him; she hadn't helped him grieve Neal's death, she hadn't bothered spending any time with him—she'd just consumed herself with Killian, living and breathing him, night and day. Henry had become an afterthought: he barely slept, barely ate, and his grades had plummeted, but that hadn't been enough to drag Emma away from Killian.

He tried not to resent her for it; tried to remember that Emma was grieving in her own way; but that didn't change the fact that he'd needed his mother, and she hadn't been there. Killian had been her entire universe; and even now that he was gone, she was chasing after him again.

Leaving Henry behind.

For him.

"Why do we have to go to the Underworld?" Henry repeated, raising his eyebrows. "Tell me."

"F-for Killian," Emma said, blinking rapidly from the force of his gaze. "To save him."

"Save him from what? Death? People die, Mom. It happens." Henry folded his arms, staring at her with cold, steely eyes. Why wasn't this an option when Dad died? a bitter voice said in the back of his mind. Why didn't she want to save Dad?

"Besides, Emma, you know it doesn't work like that," David warned. "Someone else will have to die, it's a one-for-one trade."

"And you just got back from being the Dark One, you can't give into Darkness again," Snow said.

"I won't," Emma said quickly, shifting her eyes away from Henry. "I'm giving into love."

Henry's eyebrows shot up. "For a guy who was going to kill your entire family moments before he died?" he said incredulously. "You couldn't give into love after Dad died? After he gave up his life to save the town, so you could find Zelena?"

A wave of anger rushed over him, and he kicked the chair, sending it splintering to the ground. David and Snow let out startled gasps, and Emma jumped back, staring at him with wide eyes.

"That turned out to be completely useless, too, didn't it?" Henry demanded. "Killian didn't really get rid of the Darkness, and you didn't really get rid of Zelena, did you? Everything Neal gave up was based on a lie, too! He thought you were going to save this town from her, he thought you were going to do your damn job and be a Savior again!"

Another chair went down, this time startling Regina and Robin. Henry ignored their attempts to reach for him, advancing toward Emma with a dark glare.

"And now, you want to sacrifice another one of us for him?" he shouted. "How many more people do I have to lose? How many more of us do I have to watch die?"

"I'm not going to sacrifice anyone else!" Emma stammered. "I-I think I know a way around it." She looked at David and Snow, taking in a shuddering breath. "You two share a heart…"

Henry narrowed his eyes. "Don't," he said. The more she spoke, the angrier he got. It was like he'd been keeping everything behind a dam, and every word was another crack in it. "I swear to God, don't."

"…so will we," Emma finished. "It worked for you two—why not me and Killian?"

Henry rounded on his grandparents. "Say something to her!" he exclaimed. "Tell her she's nuts!"

"Henry's right, Emma," David frowned. "You don't know it will work. Snow and I were barely confident it would work, and we're bonded by True Love."

Henry whirled around, daring Emma to say her next words: words he knew were coming, but still felt surreal to hear coming from her.

"So are Killian and I."

"But not you and Dad, right?" Henry said witheringly. "You can do all this for Killian, but Dad is dead and gone and there's no use crying over it anymore, right?"

"Henry, where is this coming from?" Emma pleaded helplessly. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why are you trying to save a guy who doesn't give a rat's ass about anyone but you?" Henry shot back. "Why didn't you think of this after Neal died? He meant something to everybody, but you're only interested in saving a guy who means something to you! How can you be so selfish?"

He pushed past her, jerking away from her outstretched hands, and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him. He could hear their frantic footsteps overhead, and immediately sped up, practically flying down the stairs.

He didn't even know where he was going. His feet were hitting the pavement faster and faster, running blindly. Blood pounded in his ears, his head burning from his rising anger. Questions and screams burst against the barriers of his mind, threatening the break of sanity: he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't believe the person Emma had become. She disgusted him, and for the first time in his life, he knew what it was to truly hate Emma Swan.