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anmylica · 2 years ago

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The Fields of Asphodel

Chapter Nine- Cue Desperate Measures

Tagging the Usual Crew: @kmomof4 @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @tiganasummertree @sotangledupinit

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Here’s the thing: Neal knew not to trust his grandfather. He had been a victim of Pan’s lies and manipulations before this, and he had fallen for them hook, line, and sinker far too many times already (though he hadn’t always known that Pan was his grandfather). He knew that doing what Pan suggested was absolutely going to put him in a position that would somehow be simultaneously the absolute worst thing that could happen for him and the absolute best thing that could happen for Pan. He knew that following Pan’s directions about going to the well was going to result in a disaster of truly epic proportions. It would even probably be on the same level of fuck-up that his abandoning Emma to serve his prison sentence had been.

But dammit all to hell if he wasn’t going to do it anyway.

All Neal could think about since that visit from his grandfather was the letter he had written to Henry after an evening spent trying to drink his feelings of inadequacy and despair away (it didn’t work, but the action made him feel a little better that at least he was going through the motions). He regretted his actions that had torn him away from the son he didn’t know he had fathered for eleven years. He regretted even more that he had fallen for Zelena’s trap and sacrificed his life to resurrect his father. Had he listened to Belle that there might be another way, he wouldn’t be stuck here now in an eerily similar situation to how his own upbringing had been, only with him as the father this time.

He had (badly) counseled another grieving woman, his eyes going to the desk drawer that held the unfinished letter to Henry, when he decided that enough was enough. He closed the office, canceled the rest of his appointments, and pulled his desk apart to find the letter and reread it once more. The office was littered with debris he had scattered from his desk, but Neal couldn’t bring himself to care.

It was several pages long, and written in Neal’s untidy scrawl. It contained all of the apologies he felt he owed Henry and the dreams for Henry’s life that he never got to say. He felt awful that the only legacy he could give Henry now was a letter he’d never get to send and a bevy of broken dreams and empty promises. Henry was his unfinished business that he wouldn’t ever get to resolve.

Only now, if he listened to Peter Pan, he’d have a way to communicate his final words to his son. The thought of Henry not knowing his father had been his biggest supporter was too much for Neal to bear. Grabbing a pen, he scribbled one last thought onto the last page and then rolled it up and stuffed the missive into a plastic soda bottle and screwed the cap on tight. It wasn’t glass with a cork, but it would have to do.

He shrugged on his coat hastily and made his way out the door, moving as fast as he could to the well. He left the rest of his belongings behind, intent upon coming back as soon as he could. He needed to do this, to complete his unfinished business so he could move on. Neal left the town behind as he headed for the trail he knew existed that would take him by the well.

After around thirty minutes of hiking through the decaying forest, getting his feet caught in exposed roots and kicking and stumbling over rocks in his haste, he finally came to the wishing well. He stopped short, surveying the woods around him. In spite of the supposed importance this well had in being a connection to the Land of the Living, Neal was surprised that there seemed to be no barriers or guardians. He took a step forward, proceeding cautiously. He paused, and when nothing happened, moved closer. He continued this cautious approach until he was right next to the well.

Neal leaned over and peered down into its depths. It didn’t look any different from how it appeared in Storybrooke. The water was a bit murky and red tinted, but so was everything down here. It came from Hades’ magic causing a fake daylight that wasn’t really daylight. The brimstone and rock that housed the Underworld cut off the natural light source and influenced the appearance of the available light for the world to present the illusion of home for the denizens of the Underworld.

He took the plastic bottle and considered it for a moment. He also took out Pan’s scroll and held it in his other hand. He didn’t know what his grandfather wanted to give Henry, but he was certain it couldn’t be anything good. Neal slipped the scroll back into his pocket and held the bottle over the wishing well and let go of it. He watched as the bottle plummeted.

He had done it. Neal had actually managed to communicate one last time with his son. He could finally move on in peace. He turned to go back to the town, his mind on going to the Place of Judgement to finally have his soul weighed against his unfinished business when a loud screech echoed closely behind him. He turned around and looked at the sky. His eyes widened at the sight of a solid black hell-dragon in the sky, its wings flapping as it hovered directly above him.

Years of instinct told Neal to turn and run, so that’s what he did. He ran as fast as he could through the undergrowth of the forest, barely feeling the stinging whip of the tree branches against his exposed skin. He ran just as fast as he had that day in New York when Emma had chased him down, only coming to a stop when she tackled him in the street. He didn’t question the instinct that had overtaken him at the sight. He just knew whatever the beast was doing, it was looking for him.

He dodged tree roots, tripping and stumbling over them and protruding rocks, barely managing not to fall. Though he knew not to look back, Neal glanced over his shoulder at the hell-dragon, only to see it lock onto its target and flap its wings back into a dive.

“Oh shit,” Neal muttered, realizing that the target was indeed him. He stopped and ducked just in time as the beast swooped down and tried to grab him. The beast missed him by inches, though Neal didn’t escape unscathed. He grimaced at the claw marks left in his jacket, but a glance at the dragon confirmed that it was already turning around to make a second grab, and Neal knew he didn’t have time to dally around.

He took off running again, desperately sprinting as fast as he could. He huffed and puffed (it had been a very long time since he had had to run like this; he had nearly forgotten what it felt like and resolved to start running every day after work). He tried valiantly to keep up his pace, but every glance backwards told him the dragon was gaining on him, getting closer and closer.

Neal poured everything he had into his sprint. He couldn’t put any more effort into his breakneck pace, and he could feel his body slowing from the exertion. His lungs burned, though they didn’t need oxygen, his legs ached from the strain, and his heart was pounding though it did not beat. He knew that everything he was feeling was an illusion, but he couldn’t break through it. Desperate, he looked behind him one last time.

His eyes off the path in front of him, he failed to see the tree root just in front of him. His foot clipped it mid stride and he fell hard. He rolled through the leaves from the momentum, finally coming to a stop on his side facing away from the dragon. He tried to scramble to his feet, scattering leaves and dirt all around him, but he was too late. The dragon wrapped its claws around him and lifted Neal into the air. He screamed at the sudden change in altitude and at the claws biting into his back and arms and chest. He kicked his legs futilely, but the beast did not let him go.

Neal watched as the Underworld version of Storybrooke grew smaller and smaller in the distance as the hell-dragon flew higher and higher. The claws gripped him tighter, and he felt blood starting to soak through his clothes. He began to feel lightheaded at the sensation; he was never one for donating blood because it made him so queasy. He wondered if his message had managed to even reach his son.

Now he had a sinking feeling that he would never get to know.

The claws sank in deeper, and Neal finally passed out.

Henry had been the fifth child of a king of a small kingdom in the Enchanted Forest, and he had married out of convenience and duty to the throne. He had never been destined for much in terms of leadership or positions of power, and he, as the fifth-born son, had been just fine with that as long as he had been alive. His bride, a peasant named Cora who had claimed the ability to spin straw into gold, had been the one who had thirsted for power. Most of the time, they got along so long as he left her to her devices and scheming and plotting. In truth, being married to Cora hadn’t been easy, for the gods only knew what kind of problems they had experienced during their long marriage, but she had borne him the absolute apple of his eye in his daughter Regina, and if he had let her walk all over him during that time, it had all been worth it to see Regina grow up.

But as he took in the handful of toddlers throwing things and screaming and crying all around him, he had to wonder if his lack of ambition as the fifth-born son was the reason he was in this position today.

A wooden block hit his head and bounced off. Henry, for all the patience he had developed during his life (Cora really had a way of trying it), felt his temper slowly starting to fray. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to the toddler who had thrown the block and crouching down to the boy’s level.

“We don’t throw blocks,” Henry told the boy, trying to affect a gentle yet firm tone of voice. The boy blinked up at him for a moment and then started to let out a wail worthy of the ogres. Henry closed his eyes in exasperation before trying to calm him, but he knew it was no use. The toddlers here had died before they could complete any true development of the mind; they were essentially frozen as they were in life.

He was in the middle of staving off this latest temper tantrum (which seemed to be setting off some of the other toddlers in the preschool where Henry had been sentenced to work as his penance for being unsuccessful in reining in his wife or his daughter) when someone loudly cleared their throat from the door.

Henry looked up and stared. Cora was standing in the doorway, dressed in the rags that he knew she had worn in her life as the miller’s daughter before their marriage. She grasped her hands and waited. He straightened and slowly walked to his estranged wife.

“Cora, what are you doing here?” he asked once he was close enough that he wouldn’t need to shout.

“I’m here about our daughter,” she replied. “It seems she’s in the Underworld.”

His eyes widened. “Regina’s here?”

“Yes, though I’ve heard she’s not dead. Hades is looking for her, and he has something terrible planned for her once he finds her.”

Henry furrowed his brow in confusion. “How do you know this?”

Cora sighed. “I overheard him when I was delivering flour from the mills. We need to find her and make sure she leaves before he can find her.”

Henry nodded in agreement. “How are we going to do that?”

Cora smiled. “By doing this.” She waved her hand and he was transported away from the preschool to the location she wanted him at, leaving the toddlers with the other caretakers who were there in the facility. “Now she’ll have no choice but to do as I want. I won’t let her become another one of Hades’ victims.”

The first thing Neal became aware of was an ache in his chest that was somewhat similar to how it had felt after Tamara shot him. The second thing he became aware of was his head pounding like a drum. The third thing was someone whistling a jaunty, yet annoying, tune.

He opened his eyes and looked around. He was in some sort of cell, with stone walls that rose several stories all around him and no door. Standing in the doorway was a man in a suit with red hair. Though Neal had only seen him once when he had been sentenced to his job, Neal recognized him instantly. This was Hades.

Neal pushed himself up gingerly into a sitting position. His chest ached from where the hell-dragon’s talons had pierced it, and he felt as if he couldn’t take a full breath, but other than that, he had to admit, he had been in worse scrapes than this. Hades watched him struggle with a gleeful grin.

“Welcome to Solitary!” Hades announced. “This is the special place where people who defy me get to spend their time.”

“I haven’t tried to defy you,” Neal protested.

“Oh, haven’t you? I found this in your pocket.” Hades pulled out the scroll that Pan had given him earlier. “Does this look familiar?”

Neal shrugged. “My grandfather gave it to me. He wanted me to pass it on to my kid, but I didn’t do it.”

Hades nodded, chewing his lips as he listened to Neal’s explanation. “You mean you decided to keep it.”

Neal’s face screwed up in disbelief. “Keep it? He tried to kill my son; why would I want to keep anything he would give me or Henry?”

Hades took out the scroll and unraveled it, glancing at the words written on it momentarily. “Maybe because it has instructions on how to leave the Underworld?”

Neal blinked at Hades’ insinuation.

“The only reason you would have to keep this would be to keep the information for yourself. Of course, this would only work if you could return to life, but I imagine this information would be very useful for all your friends back in Storybrooke.”

Neal shook his head slightly. “Well... wait, why would this information be useful to them?”

Hades smiled and his hair erupted into flames. “Take a look for yourself.” He held out a hand as if to show off a brand new car and stepped out of the way of Neal’s view.

Neal looked across to the cell directly across from his. He gasped in horror when he realized who he was looking at. Killian Jones lay there on the cold, hard stone, unconscious and bloody. Neal didn’t think he’d ever seen the pirate that badly injured before in all his time of knowing Captain Hook. Not even in all the years of being trapped in Neverland had he seen the man that bloody, and he had seen the damage the Lost Boys had done to Hook. Neal stared in horror at the man who could have been a father figure to him had life been any different or if fate hadn’t had other ideas. A slow trickle of blood ran down Killian’s face from a wound that looked freshly opened. Neal watched as the blood freely dripped off the pirate’s nose into a small pool on the stone floor. Drip. Drip. Drip.

“What the hell?” Neal whispered once he got his voice back. “What’d you do to him? Why is he even down here?”

“Let’s just say he bit off more than he could chew when it came to being a hero. And now he refuses to accept his fate.”

Neal looked at Hades. The god wore a careful expression on his face, but Neal wondered how devil-may-care Hades actually was feeling at the moment. “Accept his fate?” Neal echoed.

“Indeed. He has these silly notions of being rescued in his head.” Hades chuckled. “I don’t know where he gets them.”

Neal did some fast thinking. If Hook was here, then something had to have happened with Emma. Neal knew Hook wouldn’t willingly leave her side if he had no other choice. But did that mean…?

“Well it’s a good thing you got that scroll, then. It could be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands,” Neal said.

Hades smirked. “I thank you. But you’re still going to spend some time down here to think about what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve done? I haven’t done anything! You have the scroll there in your hands!” Neal protested, pointing to the scroll Hades held.

Hades tilted his head and considered Neal for a moment. “No, I see it still there in your eyes. You’re in possession of contraband.”

“What contraband?”

Hades took a measured step forward until he could stare into Neal’s eyes. He leaned in close and whispered into Neal’s ear, “Hope.”

A groan could be heard from behind them. Neal looked to see Killian starting to stir, his face a permanent grimace of pain. Hades straightened, a nasty grin on his face.

“Ah! Our friend is awakening! You’ll excuse me for a moment? I need to see if I can persuade our esteemed captain into seeing things my way once more.” Hades left Neal with one unhinged smile before he poofed himself and Hook away.

Neal let out the breath he had been holding. What had happened back in Storybrooke?!

~*~*~*~*~*~

Peter Pan may have been here in the Underworld longer than Rumple, but Rumple had more tools at his disposal than Peter Pan. After Peter Pan had taunted him about knowing Bae’s whereabouts and offering that ridiculous deal, Rumple had used a couple of those tools. He had found out through some simple questions of the Underworld’s denizens (meaning he had threatened some people’s still-living loved ones if they didn’t tell him the information he sought) that Neal Cassidy’s information should have been recorded at City Hall. He had gone there and, using his powers of persuasion (ergo, more threats), managed to find out that Neal’s job had been to counsel newly deceased mothers who had left behind children in the Land of the Living. He also obtained a dwelling address and the address of the office Neal had been counseling inside.

Rumple decided that the first place he would look was the dwelling. After poofing to the address and breaking inside using magic, he saw that the dwelling was nothing more than a place to sleep (or whatever caricature of sleep the dead actually did). There was nothing there. Undeterred, Rumple pooped over to the office in which Bae had to counsel newcomers who had been sentenced to paying their penance. Upon his arrival, Rumple knew that he had finally hit the jackpot. It really was too bad that he hadn’t had more time before having to take his father’s deal, but it wouldn’t matter anyway once all had unfolded.

The office was the exact same as it was in Storybrooke under Dr. Hopper’s care. The same walls, same furniture, same books and papers… Nothing had changed, though Rumple could see signs of another occupant. A used coffee mug sat on the desk, a half-empty water bottle beside it. Pens were scattered on the sofa table, and a notepad with notes scrawled across it sat beside the pens.

Rumple looked at the notepad, recognizing Bae’s messy handwriting that had been formed when Runple tried so hard to teach him to write his letters. He smiled a sad smile at seeing the chicken scratch one more time.

A sport coat that looked to be Bae’s taste hung on the coat rack by the door, and a drawing of a boy hung on the wall beside it. Rumple wondered for a moment why the drawing had caught his eye, but once he moved closer he understood. The picture was one of Henry. Bae must have drawn it shortly after arriving here after his death. A pang of heartbreak struck his chest. Bae would never get to see his son grow up and grow older. He wished for what had to be the millionth time that Bae had left him alone and hadn't tried to resurrect him. Then maybe Bae could have still had a chance to get back to Henry. To be the father that Rumple had never gotten to be for Bae.

But alas. Some things were never meant to be.

Rumple moved away from the drawing and all that it represented. He shuffled through some papers, but none of them held any news on the current whereabouts of his son. He ripped open the drawers of the desk, slamming them shut when they held nothing but staples, paper clips, and other various office junk. He ripped open the last draw, and spying only papers, moved to slam it shut when he looked a little closer.

Catching the drawer before it could shut, he slid it back open and reached inside. He took out a crumpled ball of paper. Using both hands to smooth it out, he scanned the words written on its surface.

It appeared to be a letter of apology to Henry, but parts of it were scratched out. Rumple read the parts that he could, but since the letter was scratched out so much, he really could only scan it. Turning it over, he read the last lines, which hadn’t been scratched out.

I’m sorry for all the pain I caused your mother and you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I guess it wasn’t. You were the one who suffered for it. Emma and I have made our peace, hopefully, but I never did get to make it with you. I hope you realize that, though I spent only a brief time with you, I love you with all my heart.

I’m sorry I can’t be there to tell you in person. You and your forgiveness is my unfinished business, and Henry, I wish I could be there to earn it. I wish I could get to see you grow. I wish I could be there for all the milestones, but all I can do is write this letter and hope that it one day gets to you. I was told of a way that I might be able to send it, so I’m going to rewrite this into a cleaner version and then try to send it to you. I have no idea if the well will do what it’s purported to, but I have to try.

I’m glad I was able to get to Neverland to help save you. Of all the mistakes I’ve made where you and your mother are concerned, I got that one right. Peter Pan is down here too. He’s the same as ever, though he did tell me to tell you he had “no hard feelings.” I’m glad he can’t ever get to you again. That is at least one thing that helps me to rest easy down here. But hey, I’ll see you again. This isn’t over, and I hope you know that wherever you are, I’m still there. I love you.

The letter appeared as if it had been part of at least another page, but Rumple couldn’t find the other pages. The part about Peter Pan was what caught his eye, he realized, perusing the words again. Rumple wasn’t surprised at all to find evidence that his father had lied about seeing Baelfire down here; in fact, he had expected it. There was something about the part of the well that bothered him, though he couldn’t put his finger on what.

Casting one last look around the office and taking in how scattered and ransacked the place looked, there was one thing that Rumple was sure of. Bae was in danger.

Looking at the door with darkness in his eyes, he knew the best way to get to his son was to persuade Emma Swan to take the case. And he knew just the way to get her invested. With a wave of his hand, he disappeared in a cloud of red smoke and reappeared outside the door of Emma Swan’s house.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Did you know him?”

Neal jumped at the spoken words; he hadn’t expected anyone else to be around. He looked out the doorway and down the hall. A woman with light brown hair and dressed in rags was in the cell next to his.

“Uh, yeah,” Neal responded shortly. “Who- who are you?”

“My name is Megara, but my friends call me Meg,” the woman responded.

“At least they would if you had any friends?” Neal quipped.

Megara gave him a puzzled look. “What?”

Neal chuckled. “Nevermind, sorry. Bit of a bad joke. So you’re Meg, huh?”

Meg blinked. “Yes. Did you know him? Killian Jones?”

Neal nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

Meg tilted her head in consideration. “How so?”

Neal sighed. “It’s complicated. Let’s just say he and I were interested in the same woman at one point.”

Meg nodded. “Who was she?”

Neal chuckled. “You sure do ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

Meg smiled. “Sorry. I’m not used to having many people around. Not very many people get put into Solitary these days. You must have done something real bad for Hades to put you in here.”

Neal grimaced. “You could say that, yeah.” He leaned his head back against the wall. “Apparently I tried to sneak instructions to my son and his family for escaping from the Underworld.”

Meg’s eyes bugged. “You did?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here. I had no idea the scroll had that written on it, though.”

Meg nodded in understanding. “I’ve been here since I helped my True Love defeat Hades. It’s been ages, and he’s still punishing me.”

“Didn’t Hades want to overthrow Olympus? Is that how you defeated him?” Neal looked down at his shoes before looking back up at her. She was staring at him in disbelief.

“How do you know that?” Meg asked, amazement coloring her voice.

“Oh, I saw the movie,” Neal shrugged.

“What’s a movie?” Meg looked even more mystified than she had before. Neal was suddenly reminded very strongly of his conversation with Mulan when the two of them were traversing the distance from Phillip and Aurora’s kingdom to his father’s castle in the Enchanted Forest.

Neal stammered. “It’s a kind of story you watch that’s acted out, but that’s not really important right now.” Meg just looked even more confused. “So Hades has had you down here in Solitary this whole time?”

Meg nodded, seemingly letting go of what a movie was but still had a confused look on her face. “I owed him service for helping me, and when I defied him, he decided that this was my penance. It’s been centuries.”

They both fell silent for a while, both pondering the information the other had revealed.

“I spent some time in Neverland,” Neal said, finally getting tired of the silence. “Time stops in that realm. If it had continued, I’d be a couple of centuries old or so. I finally escaped that realm, and I ended up in the Land without Magic. I met this woman, Emma Swan, and we fell in love for a brief amount of time. I left her pregnant with our son, and I eventually came back into their lives when the boy was a bit older. I died after that, but I never got to make amends for leaving him. That’s why I’m stuck here in the Underworld.”

Meg’s jaw dropped as he continued his story. “Emma Swan? You know Emma Swan?”

Neal’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why? Do you know her?”

Meg nodded profusely. “Killian Jones sent me to find her! We figured out that I could leave my cell for brief periods of time, and he asked me to find her so I could help her find him!”

“He- he asked you to find her? What do you mean? She’s back in the Land of the Living!”

Meg shook her head, smiling. “No! No she’s not! She’s here in the Underworld! She’s with a big group of people looking to rescue Killian Jones!”

Neal stared at her in disbelief. “Emma came to the Underworld to get back Hook?” How could that possibly be? No one could enter the Underworld unless they were dead. How had he not known that she was trying to get down here?

“Yes, I saw her not too long ago!”

Neal continued staring at Meg, his brow furrowing as he thought about the implications. If it were true that Emma was down here, not dead, then that had to mean the Underworld operated on magic, a special kind of magic that couldn’t be breached except by a select brand. So how could she breach it?

“My father,” Neal said out loud. Meg blinked at the change in conversation but didn’t say anything. “He has to be the key. That means Emma was able to defeat the Wicked Witch! And Hook must have died during that conflict, and that’s why she’s down here!” He looked up at Meg, a smile beginning to bloom on his face. “Can you leave here and find her again?”

“I can try,” Meg replied. “I know where she was the last time I saw her; I can go there again and see if I can meetup with her briefly.”

“Then do it,” Neal breathe, “I can try to help her find Hook and get them out of here. Get her back to my son.”

Meg nodded. “I’ll be back soon.” She got up and crept out of the holding cell and down the corridor.

Neal watched her go and hoped that she would find Emma soon so he could finally make peace with his son.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Now that we’ve got that settled, what did you and Robin see, Regina?” Emma asked after Robin had sufficiently looked his fill of his son in the mirror and moved away, cutting the image off.

“We saw a sort of vision of my father and mother being tortured. I don’t know where or why, but I’m willing to bet there is some sort of truth to it.”

“Well add that to the list of things we need to investigate” Emma rolled her eyes.

“We can handle my parents,” Regina replied. “I'll go see if I can figure out where they are and track them down. If I hear any word on Hook, I’ll let you know. Take a mirror with you so I can get in touch. I’m willing to bet our phones won’t work down here.”

Emma nodded, but before she could think of what to do next to find Hook, the front door opened, seemingly by itself. Everyone’s attention turned to it, wondering with varying degrees of dread why the door had swung open.

After a moment, Runplestiltskin sauntered in. Emma let out the bread she had been holding and rolled her eyes. Rumple merely stood there in the threshold, taking in who was present, his only expression at seeing Milah there being a quirk of his eyebrow.

“And I expected the heroes to be out searching for the pirate, not aimlessly huddled inside a house,” Rumple snidely stated as he finally entered Emma’s house as if he owned the place.

Milah frowned. “What are you doing here?” She demanded.

Rumple looked at her and blinked, as if surprised that she would actually talk to him. But that perplexed him less than her presence here did. How exactly did his ex-wife end up with the heroes? And with Emma Swan, no less? Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

He looked back at Emma, though he was addressing the whole group, and said, “I’ve come to lend my services.”

“And be locked into a deal with you? No thanks,” Emma retorted.

“From where I’m standing you don’t have much choice,” Rumple replied.

“We’re doing just fine without your help,” David chimed in.

“Oh, really? Tell me, have you found the pirate yet?” Rumple gazed around the room at everyone, but no one offered an answer in the affirmative, much as he had expected. “Then I think you could use the help.”

“Why do you want to help us all of a sudden? You took off the moment we got here.” Emma crossed her arms, a suspicious look in her eyes as she beheld the man who had betrayed them all.

“Because I would like to get back to Storybrooke and my wife,” he sneered. Milah started at his use of the word wife. He turned to her and smirked. “Not you, Dearie.”

Milah scowled. “I never assumed it was,” she sneered.

Rumple turned back to Emma. “This is what I’ll offer. You help me find someone, and I’ll help you find the pirate.”

“What someone?” Emma asked.

“My son.”

“Bae?” Whispered Milah in shock, but everyone ignored her.

Emma blinked. “Didn’t we already do this?” She asked rhetorically, holding out her arms in exasperation. “I swear, I feel like I already did this with you once. And look where it got me.”

“It would have gotten you a dead pirate hadn’t you helped me then, dearie,” replied Rumple pointedly.

“It looks like I got a dead pirate anyway because of you,” Emma hurled back.

“I said I was sorry,” Rumple waved his hands as if to dismiss his latest betrayal of them all.

“You didn’t actually,” David interjected.

Rumple cast him a withering look. “Then consider it said.” He turned back to Emma and continued, “Bae is in danger. It is mutually beneficial for us to team up to find both of them.”

“Whatever you say, Gold. Neal’s not here.” Emma rolled her eyes and gave him a flat look.

Rumple stared. “Yes he is.”

Emma shook her head. “No, he’s not. He came to me in a vision of some sort. When we were on the boat ride here,” Emma clarified. “He told me he moved on and that I shouldn’t try to do this.”

“He said that?” Snow asked in disbelief.

Emma nodded and replied, “He was very adamant that I was making a huge mistake and that he wouldn’t support it.”

“That doesn’t sound like Neal,” Snow stated.

Emma gave her a skeptical look, but before she could correct her mother, Rumple interrupted. “No, I have confirmation that he is down here. That vision must not be correct.”

Emma sighed. “What confirmation?”

Rumple paused a moment, contemplating how much he should reveal. “I was paid a visit by a common enemy earlier. He told me that Bae was down here being punished for something.”

“Common enemy?” David echoed.

Henry frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re talking about Peter Pan.”

Rumple nodded, and the group minus Robin and Milah groaned.

“Why is he here?” Regina grumbled.

“That’s irrelevant,” Rumple dismissed. The point is, if you help me find my son, then I will stop at nothing until I rescue the pirate. Do we have a deal, Miss Swan?”

Emma scratched her head and ran her fingers through her hair as she contemplated what this new deal would mean for her. “I mean, how much danger is Neal really in down here? I’m sure he’ll turn up at Granny’s or something. Why do we need to look for him?”

“Have you forgotten that he’s the son of the Dark One?” Rumble sneered. “A good portion of the dead people here in the Underworld, I’ve killed. There’s at least one of those in this room currently.”

Milah clenched her fist and her jaw at his words, eyes flashing as she tensed up even more than she had been if that were possible.

“He’s in danger by proxy down here. I’d rather know he was safe.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. Rumple knew she could sense the half-truth in his voice, could hear the Dark One’s twist on the words to reveal just enough without really giving anything away at all. He also knew that Emma was just past the point of being desperate enough to disregard the Dark One lies and tricks and accept his help.

He had his confirmation a moment later when she nodded her head once, terse in her movements, and said, “Fine. I’ll help you.”

Rumple nodded. “We should get a move on. I’ve located Bae’s office where he works down here. We’ll start there.” He turned to leave, but a sound of protest stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait, I thought we were going after Killian, first!” Emma frowned in confusion.

“No, the pirate is not in immediate danger. My son is. We find him, then the pirate.”

Emma nodded, not happy about the circumstances but not seeing a way to convince Rumple otherwise. “Fine, let’s go.”

“Wait!” Henry exclaimed. “I’m coming with you!”

Emma and Rumple both shouted at the same time, “No!”

Emma continued, “It’s too dangerous.”

Henry crossed his arms, a mutinuous expression gracing his face. “If it’s about my dad, I’m coming too. I didn’t get to see him before he died,” Henry added quickly upon seeing the looks on both Emma and Regina’s faces. “It’s only fair that I get to see him, too.”

Emma’s face looked as if her heart was breaking for her son. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “Fine, you can come. But you’re sticking close to me, or I’m poofing you back to Regina. Do you understand?”

Henry nodded.

Milah chimed in. “I’m going with you as well. I want to see my son again, and an extra pair of eyes on this one,” she sent Rumple a withering gaze, “can’t hurt.”

“Uh, I don’t recall inviting you,” Rumple protested.

“Tough. I invited myself. I’m not abandoning Bae this time.”

Rumple sighed an aggravated sigh. “What could possibly go wrong with this?” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

The two glared at each other for a moment.

Emma sighed and put her arm around Henry’s shoulders. “Let’s go, then.” To Henry, she quipped under her breath, “Welcome to dinner with the in-laws.” Henry grinned and they started to exit the house, the Dark One and his former wife trailing behind them.

A loud clunk sounded from just in front of them, and they stopped short. Everyone looked for what made the sound, but Emma knew. She stared down at her feet before slowly bending over. She picked something metallic up from the floor, gingerly, before standing again. Rumple squinted, trying to figure out what she cradled in her hands. She took a deep breath and turned, fierce determination and endless heartbreak glinting in her eyes.

In her hands was a hook. Rumple recognized it as the same one Hook had used as the replacement for his hand, the same one that the pirate had stabbed him with all those years ago on the deck of the pirate’s ship. It was stained with dried blood, the blood so thick in spots it was caked on.

The rest of their companions gasped in horror, minds immediately jumping to what was likely the right conclusion. Milah looked confused, but one look at Emma’s face told her something bad had happened to Killian.

“We have to hurry,” Emma choked out, barely holding back tears. “Killian is in more danger than we thought.”

Emma stood there just long enough for Rumple to recognize the sheer panic in her eyes before she turned and practically ran out the door. He, Henry, and Milah followed after her, though at a slightly more sedate pace.

Unbeknownst to them, miles down below where they were, Hades was watching them in a mirror and smiling with a deranged sort of glee. The jar of hope standing in the corner of the throne room filled a little more from the Savior’s panic. Killian Jones watched the scene and the jar with a cold fury that he hadn’t felt in centuries, but somehow this was worse.

“It looks like we’ve finally figured out what makes the Savior panic, what causes the Savior pain. Oh, I’m going to enjoy this,” Hades said as he waved his hand, signaling to Pain and Panic that it was time for them to carry out their work. Killian watched them leave, twin looks of malevolent expectation on their faces, and he struggled against his chains.

“You won’t win,” Killian spat. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Hades laughed. “Oh, I’ve already won. It’s just a matter of putting the pieces where they go.” He turned and stabbed Killian’s shoulder with a hot poker, causing the pirate to cry out in pain. The jar of hope’s contents raised incrementally. Hades continued to torture the pirate, determined that Killian Jones would at least contribute his pain, even if he wouldn’t give up his hope.

#The Fields of Asphodel #once upon a time #captain swan #captain hook #killian jones #emma swan #ouat #anmylica writes #csff #season 5 fix it #whumptober 2022 #No 12 #What could go wrong?#mayday mayday

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