Once Upon A Wonderland~ Killian Jones

Smoke and Dust

Killian's POV:

The explosion spread through the night like blood and smoke billowed outwards like a disease. Killian was forced to retreat to the safety of the hospital, or he wouldn't survive.

Grace wouldn't survive.

He couldn't do nothing. He owed her that much, after what he did.

The hospital staff were being slow to respond. Killian ran to the nearest nurses' desk and slammed his hand on the table, startling the half-asleep woman sitting there. "I need help!" He cried.

"W-what?" The nurse blinked, taken aback by the rude awakening. "Sir, you'll have to go to the trauma wing-"

"Page a doctor! There was a bloody explosion and... and..." his face contorted. He couldn't say it.

The nurses' eyes drifted to the glass doors and the fires behind them. She gasped and fumbled for the phone.

"Paging all available personnel, we have an emergency outside of the central lobby. I repeat, paging all available personnel, we have an emergency outside-"

Killian turned away from the desk to face the chaos outside. They would never reach her in time.

Grace once said he couldn't be a pirate in Storybrooke. He learned she was right. It was time to something right in his life, and be a hero.

~~~~~~~

Grace's POV

Darkness. Fuzzy darkness.

And cold.

My back hurt. My shoulders were throbbing. It felt nothing like my bed.

Where was I? At home?

Obviously not. It was too uncomfortable for that.

And dusty. Too dusty. My lungs tingled.

I didn't like it.

My mouth was wide open, taking deep breaths through a mouthful of dust and rubble.

And my head. I'd never be able to stand up again.

I opened my eyes.

I couldn't see anything. Everything was murky, fuzzy, obscured like there was a film over my eyes. I could only vaguely make out the pale figure of my arm, resting in what looked like mulch.

I lifted my head and immediately cried out; my skull was pulsing with pain. I let it rest on the hard surface I was lying on once again. There was no doubt in my mind that there was something wrong with me.

I took a deep breath, trying not to choke on the air. One thought made it through the haze: I needed help.

First things first: I needed to see. I brought my fingers up to my face to clear away the grime from my eyes. They shook so violently that I nearly poked them out, and I relaxed for fear of injuring myself any more.

It seemed I'd have to work without my eyesight.

"Help..." I croaked.

Silence. I began to cough, the dirty air not enough for my lungs. I could just hear the shouts of people, so close but not close enough to help me.

"Help..." I tried again, but it was even weaker this time. 

I reached out with my shaking hand again. I needed something, anything. My palm skimmed over rocks and burning hot pieces of rubber and soil but nothing I could use to make a sound. To make a noise.

I tried with my other arm, but made a throaty noise of despair when a pain too blinding to bear shot up the tissues of my limb. Wheezing and coughing, I flung my good arm over my chest and painstakingly heaved myself over.