Killian suddenly felt exhausted. But he most certainly didn't want to be alone, no, he'd had enough of that - in the past, recently, all the time, what was the difference? "Aye, a drink would be well received," he said, once Emma had written the note and...gods, there was just something so inherently wrong about all of this. But where to even begin?
"Is this our life now?" he demanded, sounding harsh - though it wasn't as if he was angry at Swan. But now, with nothing in front of him to distract him from Neal's dead body, he was just feeling the crushing weight of the town's effects once more. Snow had also died in front of him, but that was in the heat of battle - whereas with Neal it was like he arrived just to slap them all in the face and remind them that, back home, he wouldn't get a second chance. It would be over, and they would all have to face that at some point.
Piling on more trauma, atop the trauma.
"Treating death like it's a bloody revolving door? Like the dead are just sleeping and they'll be back in a couple of days once their souls are snacked on, and we don't even get the right to die like we should? We haven't got any rights." It was infuriating and he wanted to burn everything down.