cs future family — ღ — CaptainCharming II CaptainCobra — “I broke down crying in your Grandfather’s arms the night my daughter was born…” — or, you know, the night the wee babies are born and how these guys handled the whole thing. (slightly)angsty fluff? :)
This is obviously never in a million years happening in canon, but I’m still craving already all the Daddy!Killian/Grandpa!Killian fluff, so here’s THIS anyway! I very selfishly needed it! :D Flashbacks are in Italics. (( AO3 ))
wishes he knew the exact way or words to help the lad. He knows in his heart
that everything is going to turn out fine regardless, but he still wishes Henry knew this as
And he knows, oh Killian knows rationally Henry probably knows everything’s going to be okay already, but Killian also knows, from his own experience, that right this second, rationality isn’t exactly first on Henry’s mind.
So he waits it out. Killian doesn’t exactly want to approach Henry with his unsolicited opinion, but he still knows the two of them are bound to exchange some words at some point this day anyway.
Killian knows it’s not the right time yet though. The lad is seemingly trying to appear so tough and in control of the whole situation and Killian respects that.
Killian has to commend him for it even; he’s doing a much more believable job than Killian ever did once upon a time when he was in Henry’s shoes.
Needlessly to say, Killian Jones can’t be prouder of his lad right now.
— ღ —
He’s losing it.
He’s shaking and he feels as though someone has a very tight grip on his heart right now. He feels sweaty and tingly —as though he’s being suffocated from the inside out. He tries to force himself to breathe but it comes out shallow and rapid. He shudders; eyes squeezing against the tears he doesn’t wish to cry.
His chest almost hurts and he wants— he doesn’t know what he wants —he just needs to do something, but he’s useless. All evening he’s done nothing but watch and it’s —it’s too bloody much for him to handle.
Killian turns facing a wall, his palm flat on the cool surface steadying him. He doesn’t trust his legs to hold him up so he leans heavily onto the wall, his forehead touching its surface. He breathes, harshly and unsteady, he wants to scream really —cry perhaps too, out of frustration and—
“Breathe,” a voice calls, and Killian hears it muffled by the sound of his very own heart pounding in his ears. “Breathe,”