A/N: We're moving slowly into canon territory! Hang on, Killian! You can do it! I super believe in you! Reviews? Comments? Favourite book series?

Chapter Six: Still Breathing

Killian doesn't know how long he's left tied to the wall, not quite standing but unable to fall. He can't rest, every motion, every breath, sending ripples of pain shooting through him. His chest burns as he tries to pull in air, his stomach wound coursing fire across his side, flayed skin at his back raw against his shirt. Everything is pain, everything hurts, and he wants it all to end.

His head rolls forward to rest against his chest, a trickle of blood escaping from his mouth to run down his lips, dripping onto his ripped and bloodied clothes. He groans quietly, struggles to lift his head up to rest against the wall, where it doesn't pull at the wounds on his back, but it's too heavy, too much effort.

He's sure he passed out at some point, he's sure he slept for a little while, the blood on his lips dry and crusted when he comes awake again. He doesn't know how he managed to ignore the racing agony throughout his burned and broken body, how he stayed asleep with the ropes tied so tightly around his limbs, but he's grateful. It's not much, it's not enough to heal him, but he'll take it.

Some part of him wants to escape the binds, to use his hook - now coated with his dried blood - to saw through the hemp cutting into his arms, his legs, to curl up on the floor and sleep for as long as Hades will leave him alone. Some part of him wants to defy the lord of this world of pain, to continue to goad him whatever small ways he can, his escape from the ropes sure to anger the god.

But he's tired, and he's weak, and he's not sure he can withstand whatever Hades will come up with as punishment, as retribution. And he's angry, furious at his weakness, his fear, for not being willing to stand up against the god anymore, for being too afraid of pain to stick to the defiance he wants to hold onto so badly. He hates his fear, but still he makes no move to cut the ropes that hold him up.

With more energy than he can afford to spend, he manages to raise his head, rest it heavily on the wall behind him, a tiny victory over the pain in his body. He lets his clear eye drift shut, hoping for more rest.

For a time, he slips in and out of consciousness, not really sure if he's awake or asleep at any given moment, the pain crashing over him anew each time he gasps back to alertness. It's almost not worth it, to sleep only to wake in more agony than when he drifted off. But soon he finds he can lift his head just a little bit easier than the time before, the remaining pain after the first wave of wakefulness not quite as bad as the last one, his breathing not nearly as desperate as the previous time he woke.

He drifts hazily through consciousness, in and out, dark and light, pain and agony. He almost doesn't notice when the walls of the small cell begin to flicker, changing, transforming from dark stone to open air, a red hue to the world around, from an empty room to people standing before him, people he-

It can't be, he thinks, the weight of exhaustion threatening to sever his fragile grasp on consciousness. It can't be real, can't be her. Can't be.

But Emma's eyes light up when she sees him, she takes a step closer toward him across the grass now beneath his feet, away from her family. He struggles to pull his eye open, to look, to see, to see her, his chest clenching in a pain that has nothing to do with the tortures he suffered. Her mouth moves, the shape of his name on her lips, but he can't hear, can't-

Killian gasps as the image disappears, and the pain of losing sight of her is almost worse than everything in his broken body. He fights to stay awake, stay conscious, to see her, one more time, just one more moment.

The walls flicker once more, his cell gone, and she's back, she's right there in front of him, saying something, something he can't make out, the pain and weariness threatening to pull him away again, and he doesn't want to leave her, can't leave her, can't watch her disappear again.

"… find you…," he thinks she says, he wants to believe she says, but can't believe, can't want. She can't be here, she can't, not in this world of pain, not in this eternal punishment he's resigned himself to endure, not where Hades can get her, hurt her, use her against him.

She can't be here.

But he knows. In a way he can't possibly know, he knows. She's here, she's here, coming for him, for him, she's coming.

She fades away again, and he groans with the loss of her, a quiet, desperate sound of need and want and longing and something else, something he didn't think he had left anymore.

Hope.

He can feel it spreading through him, a warmth, a comfort, a love he thought he'd have to go without for many years more. It fills the well of defiance he thought he'd all but emptied, sparks his will to stay strong, to fight back, to do anything his power to get away, get to her, to Emma. She had been his lifeline, his reminder of who he was, who he can be, who he needs to be again.

She's coming, each beat of his dead heart heart seems to sing, each pulse of the blood through his body, each throb of pain. She's coming.

"Emma," he whispers in a soft breath, consciousness fading away too fast, too strong for him to fight right now.

He falls asleep with a smile on his lips.