Killian opens his eyes to...well, a cavernous wasteland with an ornate gentleman's club in the center. Carts stocked with bulbous, long-necked bottles of what appear to be wines and bourbons pull his gaze to the left; a globe next to a filled mahogany bookshelf, the right. And yet he can hear water dripping. He can feel a draft in multiple directions.

Certainly a place to approach slowly, he thinks, daring to sit up in...a high-backed, velvety chair. The level of confusion so great he swallows the compulsion to laugh, he reaches up to check the wound on his neck with shaking fingers. Still there. Straightening himself more, he lifts his shirt and finds the gaping, angry spot where Excalibur ended him.

Proof it had all really happened. But then, where is he?

"Emma?" he whispers into the luxury. Not sure he wants to stand just yet, he cranes his neck and stares behind him. One, two...five rivers, all different colors. They gleam, standing out from the dark stone walls of the cave. They gleam more than the odd gem on display around him. Here, a diamond; there, an emerald as large as his fist. What is this place?

Blue flames burst out from the air no more than two feet from the chair, and he can't help but jolt. The fire fans out to reveal a man with a rather condescending smile. Well, bloody hell, he didn't die to be anyone's amusement. His fingers fly off his neck as he opens his mouth to demand an explanation.

"Hi, I'm Hades, lord of the dead. How are you?" he asks without being prompted in an exuberant sort of way.

Well, if it is a place associated with death, Killian's unfamiliar with it, and he'd at least thought he would be a touch prepared for the Underworld after all the ominous stories sailors told each other.

"So, let's get this started...you know what? I can't work like this." With a snap of the man's fingers, a smooth melody begins to play, light and whimsical, but heavy on the bass.

Those fingers in my hair/that sly come-hither stare/that strips my conscience bare/it's witchcraft...

"Ah, Sinatra," this Hades sighs, closing his eyes. His hand taps the air in time with the song. "He sings like violins play. Or, rather sang since he's down here, too. Well, well, well, Killian Jones. Let's get orientation out of the way, shall we?" Sliding into the chair across from him, Hades crosses his legs and rests his elbows on his knees, a pose meant to indicate he's ready to listen, Killian supposes.

"This is the Underworld." He intended to ask it, but, given his surroundings, it shouldn't come as a shock if he sounds a bit dull.

"We've gone through some renovations."

'Cuz it's witchcraft/wicked witchcraft...

Pausing, Hades holds out his arm and gestures at the cart of drinks. It rolls to him as if pushed by an invisible attendant, stopping next to his chair. He pours himself some dark red wine and sips it.

"Ah. Better. Now." Setting the glass down, he claps his hands together. "Your list of sins."

"Bloody hell..."

"Yes, yes. It is a lot of blood and a lot of hell to go over, but I think it adds a personal touch down here. See, most people only ever see me when they first arrive, when they've done something really good, or when they've done something really bad."

Killian nods his head, sizing up this man of wealth and taste, a bit like Rumpelstiltskin, only...more prideful. He probably finds himself charismatic, he thinks. Even the power-addicted Crocodile didn't harbor such a delusion about himself.

When you arouse the need in me/my heart cries "yes, indeed" in me...

"Why do I get the feeling you're more about seeing them when they've done something bad?" he asks.

Hades laughs and waggles a finger at him. "You've always been a perceptive one. So, here we go. Sins. Failed deckhand, failed naval officer, then the usual 'we pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot, drink up, me hearties, yo ho...' You know that one, right? No? You mean you actually chose to settle in the Land Without Magic and have never once been to Disneyworld? Ouch. Meh, just as well. I don't think kids would like the real you as much. Extortion...blackmail...murder...of your own father! Well, you know, there are much bigger players when it comes to supplying me with souls, but you gave it your all for a while there, didn't you? I applaud the effort. You were well on your way to bypassing this place entirely and going to a much, much more agonizing place."

Killian rolls his tongue in his mouth and considers retorting that a worse place strains the imagination at the moment, but his lips press tighter together. He's not bound, able to stand and beat the man to a bloody pulp before making a run for it—or so it would seem. Judging by the sudden twinkle in Hades' eyes as they evaluate each other, Killian recognizes the age behind the body, the malice behind the mock affability.

"And then you had to go and fall in love," Hades scolds him, as if he'd caught him pickpocketing. "Oh, make no mistake—you're still a bastard. Helping crush a benevolent wizard's heart, for example. But I suppose going out of your way to help save a child, trading material goods for the chance to help someone, and helping save the same lost-cause town a few times earned you some points. Ever been punched in the face by a deity?"

"What?" he asks. He hadn't really heard such a random, non sequitor question, had he? In the next second, he doubles over, clutching his stomach and gasping for air. Wheezing, he snaps his eyes shut and tries to bite down on the pain.

"That never gets old," Hades laughs. "Although I changed my mind at the last minute and went for the gut. Anyway, you meet this woman, you leave her in a cell to rot only to end up swordfighting with her. You take a few hearts, stab a couple of people, almost ensure her, her family, and an entire realm's worth of people will die, and change your mind at the last second. Boy." He whistles. "Did you at least buy her flowers afterward?"

"Is there a point to all this? If I'm to be sent to hell, then get on with it."

"Well, that's the thing," Hades says, leaning back into the chair. The song repeats itself, and, for a moment, Hades looks off in the distance and mouths the lyrics to himself, as if he's forgotten all about Killian.

"I'm going to kill two birds with one stone here and cut your face a little."

Killian's whole body snaps at the familiar sting of a blade slicing into him, but he can't see it. It pricks a spot on his cheekbone and digs across almost to his nose. On instinct, he tries to spring to his feet, but they're bound to the floor. His arms are tied to the arms of the chair. A magic gust of wind knocks his back into the chair, holding him still as the second cut comes quicker, deeper. He lets out a cry and curses himself for it.

"You're not going to hell. Captain Hook, now, he was practically racing for it, but you—the you down in your core, the you that you truly are—you repented. You gave it your best shot and changed, and, when it all comes down to it, that's what most of the superior beings want, isn't it? Just that you try. Pretty simple gig for humanity. But I don't feel the need to lie to you, Killian—a lot of people out there hate you, and I'm kind of one of them. So imagine my luck when you tried your one hand at being a Dark One and ended up here!"

And I've got no defense for it/the heat is too intense for it...

The invisible knife cuts the sensitive skin between his eyebrow and his eye, forcing his face upward, his eyes blinking at a furious pace in hopes of protecting themselves. An attempt at only grunting gives way to an undignified yelp. He bucks and thrashes in the chair, hoping he can at least topple it over, but it doesn't budge.

"Unfinished business doesn't allow you a ticket into heaven," Hades states, standing up and sauntering over to him. Between blinks, Killian sees him loom over him, smiling. "You're probably asking for the definition of unfinished business. Actually, you're probably just hoping I stop torturing you, but I like to hear myself talk. Unfinished business involves all the things you left un-squared away when you were alive. Not gambling debts or anything like that, but personal things. Like avenging your first love's murder. Or keeping your promise to your second love to merely survive. Or vanquishing the Darkness permanently."

"What?" Killian chokes out, flinching when the unseen blade doesn't touch him. No. No, no, he died to destroy the Darkness. It had been the only solution, and, as far as he'd known, an effective one. Then was Emma still a Dark One? "H-how?"

"You can thank Rumpelstiltskin for that. He rerouted all that Darkness right back into himself, taking in his original power, and that of all the other Dark Ones, to include you and Emma Swan in one fell swoop. You just bequeathed centuries of power to your greatest enemy, left him alive in the same little town your distraught girlfriend is in, and got rid of yourself in the process." Hades unleashes a mirthless laugh. "I mean, talk about a failure in every way."

Bending down even further, Hades now looks him in the eyes.

"So now we get to implement one of the things you weren't a failure at, Captain," he hisses at him. "And that's inflicting a world of hurt."

It's such an ancient pitch/but one I wouldn't switch/'cuz there's no nicer witch than you...


Hades knows his way around a torture, Killian will give him that. The pain is never so intense that he just faints away a few minutes into each session, and yet it is relentless. Left alone, Killian will close his eyes and be just on the cusp of sleep when Hades will ram the edge of his heel right into his spine.

It doesn't matter. At least, that's what he tells himself. It's his penance for a magically-extended life of villainy. He endures it long enough, he'll have worked off his debt to whatever superior beings exist and he'll cross into—hopefully—a better place. What that place actually looks like and who may be there occupy his thoughts when others would dismiss him as just a bleeding heap staring off into space. What will time feel like when he's there? Will the alleged perfection of paradise eventually bore him, or do the superior beings define perfection in broader terms than that? Will he be able to watch over Emma and Henry and his family while he's there, or will he have more influence over the rest of their lives than that? Or worse, will he not remember them at all? Would the divine be as insecure as to wipe away all love and devotion not paid to them?

You should rest, he warns himself. Save your strength since Hades never likes to announce when he's returning. Closing his eyes, Killian scoots back against the wall of his prison cell and huddles into the corner like a lost child.

"Killian."

Flinching, he opens one eye and then struggles to open the other. He knows that voice. He doesn't know the vast field of gravestones he's suddenly in, but he knows her voice—no matter how muffled—and he knows that face. Her mouth moves in a wide fashion, gasping out words he can't hear. She pauses, unable to stand still or stop wringing her hands, as she waits for him to answer. Then...she's here? Emma? Here?

Maybe...maybe it's an illusion. He quickly perishes the thought. If it were an illusion, it wouldn't be agonizing to move his jaw just to respond. Nor would an illusion be hard to hear. He leans forward, turning his head to the side so she can find some other way to communicate with him. He can't believe she's here. There is movement behind her, the shapes of people in and out of view, but he can't focus on them due to his blasted eye. She's still speaking, trying to reach him, and he knows by the desperation in her face that she's asking him where he is and how to find him. She came for him.

Swan came for him.

A sudden slab of cold hits the side of his face. Snapping his eyes open, he cries out as if waking from a nightmare, a sheen of sweat slathering his clammy face. With a short, pathetic cough, he staggers onto one knee and takes in his surroundings with all the grace of a newborn fawn. No prison cell. No bonds. No Emma, but he can move his limbs again. Despite the torches and demonic stone faces peppered here and there, it looks like a plenty-escapable vault. Emma might have come up with a brilliant plan to come down here, but Hades didn't seem the type to like being outdone.

"Is this a bloody trick?" he calls. He'll have to find her and convince her to leave before she's trapped here in the Underworld for good. Coming down here, risking her life just to come to the Land of the Dead for him—how could she be so stupid?

I love you.

The memory of those words, told to him more than once now, prompt him to rise to his feet despite the pain it causes to set his weight on one of them. He doesn't remember Hades cutting his foot, but then again, he can't pinpoint if the pain lies there, in his calf, his shin, his knee, or just the whole bloody leg.

"Stop!" a voice cries out just as he's about to shift his weight. "That's exactly what it is. A trick." Across the way, a girl sits with her back against the wall and her knees up in what appears to be long rags. He neither recognizes her nor can see any visible wounds that would explain the flat, hopeless tone.

"Don't move," she warns him. "He wants you to think you can escape, but...you can't. No one can."

Well, the screams echoing throughout the prison provide some fairly strong evidence in favor of that, but...

"Aye, we'll see about that." Tensing, he plants his foot onto the next step. It might as well have been the tip of a shard of glass being driven up into his arch.

"Don't. He'll hunt you down."

Not that his foot—or his entire leg, for that matter—could withstand another divine beating, but he's had quite his fill of the Lord of the Underworld. Once Emma leaves, perhaps he can spend eternity learning how to take the blows, adapting to the point of being able to dish them back out.

"Hades has already done his worst to me," he assures the girl. Gods, his hand glides further up his chest to his ribcage. Oh yes...that's a broken rib. He remembers exactly what that feels like.

"I don't mean Hades."

"Who, then?" he tries to keep from shouting at her. Blasted lass looks as if she can walk faster than he can, but she just sits, shaking her head so violently Killian worries there will be nothing left of her eyes but the whites. She inhales, and he braces himself for the new information.

"N-no. Just don't."

They'll have to work together if they're to defeat whatever novelty Hades has that's made him confident enough to leave his prisoners unbarred and unchained. The information she knows will be key, and, while he's not much to anyone right now in terms of physical prowess, he's escaped many a prison and outrun many a magical problem. Just not all of them, he thinks, letting his head fall a little. But she doesn't have to know that.

"Look, this isn't my first cell," he says with gritted teeth. "I don't just sit around and rot. Now, somebody's come down here to save me, and I need to make her job easier."

That's captured her attention, anyway, some semblance of lucidity flooding the girl's face. Knitting her brow, she stares at him, as if finally aware another person occupies the same space.

"How do you know she's here?"

"She got me a message."

"How do you know that wasn't one of Hades' tricks?"

"Because I know!" Bloody hell, if she knew Emma, she'd know what an insult that was. Fine time to be questioning everything, when you haven't even bothered to stand up, he considers snapping. No. No, more harsh treatment won't prompt her to leave her spot. He needs to inspire her with some hope, give her cause to have faith in the Savior. Shouldn't the fact she's even here be enough to stir the lass into action?

"When you love someone, you know," he says, softer, the corner of his mouth attempting to smile. It hurts, but from the sounds of it, whatever Hades guards this place with will make it all hurt worse. "Now, what's keeping us in here?"

The girl shakes her head again, her frightened eyes almost rolling back.

"Something you don't want to face," she whispers.

"I'll be the judge of that." Grunting, his foot comes off the step. Shuffling along, it feels like he hasn't moved his leg for decades. He hauls it along as he rushes over to the girl, one hand still on his rib, tempted to try pushing it back into place. He winces and chides himself for not smiling since the girl edges back against the wall. Not that he blames her. He's never really approached a girl as broken, limping, swollen a creature as he's been reduced to, courtesy of Hades.

"Are you mad?" she asks with him wide eyes, a soft mossy green with just a hint of blue, probably of the playful variety when not stricken with terror.

"Perhaps," he says as he offers her his hand. "But I'm the best chance you have."

Whimpering as she shifts her weight, the girl takes hold of his hand and he can hear her body cracking, forced out of its stiff, huddled position. They need a plan, but he hasn't heard a scream for a while. He can't imagine that's a good thing.

"You ready?" he asks. Nodding, chest heaving, desperately trying to steady her breath—no time for a plan. "All right. Go. Go!"

He'll follow for now, at least until the as-yet-to-be-seen guard nears. She seems to know the corridors a little better than he does...although that's unsurprising since magic took him in and out of his cell. A few torches light the multiple paths in front of them, and yet it's not some endless labyrinth. The god-constructed prison is just that, a prison. A snarl rumbles through the corridor, sending his companion into a panic.

"I told you we'll never make it!" she cries in a hoarse voice. No. They won't. The practical, piratical...dark side of him repeats that to himself over and over. She's too afraid, won't have her wits about her. But that doesn't mean she should fall victim to the monster gaining on them.

"We won't," he says, catching up to her just in time to nab her arm. "But you will. I'll draw the hell beast away. You run. And once you're free, find Emma Swan. I'm Captain Killian Jones...Captain Hook. Tell her to find me."

"Okay," she promises. Her eyes still bulge, but her head is still, her breathing slowed so she can concentrate on his instructions. She's retained enough of it to be of some use, and now she'll be free as well. Ordering her to go, he can't watch her run out of sight, not when the creature's growl almost snuffs out the closest torch. Slowly stepping back, he scans the prison. From the corridor they ran through, a pair of glowing red eyes narrow at him. Followed by another set. Then another. Swallowing, he twists, positioning his hook in front of his body. Judging by the size of the eyes, each beast must have the head the size of a small boulder.

Just means more to take a swipe at, he tells himself with an inhale. Expecting one to charge at him, he balks at a paw the size of his head sliding against the stone floor. He follows it up to find all three heads attached together. A three-headed hound.


He can't open one of his eyes. Gasping for air as he wakes up, he stares up at two black-clothed minions wordlessly dragging him by the arms. He's lost some feeling in both legs, not able to squint enough to see if the red blotches running down the sides of his trousers are blood or scorch marks. That beast. He hadn't even had time to run away, the hound's stride horrifically long. It had panted hot, rancid breaths into his face, sunk its teeth into the dip where his shoulder met his neck, flung his whole body up off the ground, and after that, well, perhaps Killian should consider himself lucky he'd blacked out.

"Oh, this is going to be quite an exciting day," he hears Hades as the guards dump him onto the floor of the room he'd woken up in when he'd first arrived here. Groaning, he tries to roll over, but has only enough energy to turn onto his side.

"It will be...when I kill you," he says through a bruised jaw bone. Bursting into laughter, Hades flails his arms and Killian curses himself for flinching at the gesture, expecting more of the god's wrath.

"Why does everyone say that?" his blurred form chuckles. "You can't kill me. I'm Hades. This-this is death!"

"Well, then, I'll find whatever's worse...and do it to you." Not that he can think of whatever's worse at this precise moment. There is the little matter about being able to actually see first, and then somehow getting up off the floor, and then getting Emma out of here. Before his mind can torture itself with images of her having to face the beast, Hades takes a knee and peers down at Killian's throat. With two fingers, he folds the collar of Killian's shirt and brushes the shredded skin still stubbornly clinging to the body. The touch doesn't add to the pain but rather heats it, like sticking one's hand into a bucket of scalding water.

"Oh, I see you've met my pet," Hades whispers to him. "You're about to realize his master is not nearly as friendly."

"Does throwing a little ball make the master go away?" Killian grunts, crying out when Hades grabs a chunk of his hair and pulls him, not succeeding in moving his bleeding body anywhere, but that wasn't the desired effect.

"You think you're above all this? You think because you hobnobbed with royalty up there and kept one little town from being destroyed a few times you're absolved?" Backing away in disgust, Hades paces for a few seconds with his hands on his hips. Then, he rushes at him and kicks him in the stomach as hard as he can. Gasping for air, Killian's hand leaves its spot against his broken ribs and slams into the floor, widening and scraping for leverage to crawl away from the torture.

"Hear this now, Hook, because this is not a time I like hearing myself talk—this is where you belong. You're too vindictive, too impulsive, and just plain too weak to belong anywhere else. All this talk of being a man of honor and you succumbed to the Darkness in, what, an hour? Less?" The blue flames that heralded his arrivals and departures flare up and seem to snake down his back and arms, his head the glowing white center. Hades' hands fly up and smooth his hair, smothering the flames back down.

"I'm calm. I'm cool," he murmurs to himself with his eyes closed. Turning back to Killian, he smirks at him. "I think I'm wasting my breath telling you all this, though. Maybe I would do better if tried to talk some sense into Emma."

The blue flames swirl around him until the god disappears. Wonderful. Heaving himself up, Killian sits with his knees up and takes in the condition of his legs with one eye. Blood and scorch marks. Wonderful. That bloody three-headed dog had torn his clothes in a few places, leaving blood splattered all over them. The side of his face with his swollen-shut eye throbs, just a wet, hot mass of flesh if the sensations against his fingertips are any indication.

Trying to get to Emma before Hades won't do any good; Hades' fight isn't with her anyway—at least not yet. He'll rile her up in hopes she'll be so shaken she'll turn back, but Hades has yet to entangle with Emma Swan. Her feathers ruffled only makes her more of a threat.

Edging backward, his back hits a little clock he doesn't remember being there the first time. As best he can with one eye, he memorizes the Underworld, its rainbow array of rivers flowing a little slower now that the King of the Dead isn't here, almost as if they too fear him.

He'll have to help Emma find him before Hades pulls out every gun in his arsenal on her. He'll have to be able to stand up. He'll have to...


Footsteps. Oh. Oh, bloody hell—he lost consciousness? Again? Hades marches straight for him looking, well, like how most of the villains Swan's encountered look after they contend with her. It's too late to close his eyes and pretend to snore to show his lack of interest in an angry god, so Killian flexes what few muscles he can in his face to muster something akin to a smirk.

"The prisoner you aided in escape? She moved on from this realm."

"Good for her." He stretches his mouth more to convey sincerity. She must have risen above her fears and done some good, resolved her "unfinished business."

The familiar sound of a weapon being drawn pierces the silence, some long chiseling tool now in Hades' grasp. That's a new one. He's heard of less fortunate pirates being branded, a permanent "P" seared into their skin, but a carved one in his own skin by Hades will just have to serve as a badge of honor.

"Get on with it, then," he dares him.

"Oh, this? No, this isn't for you," he says, waggling the chisel from side to side in admonishment. Laughing his smug laugh, Hades inches toward him. "It's for your friends."

He forces the chisel into his hand.

"What in the bloody hell am I supposed to do with this?" Killian grunts out.

"Simple accounting, really. At first, I wanted your friends to leave. I reallyhad such a smooth-running operation going here before they arrived. But now I've decided they've caused too much damage, so my vindictive side... Did you know I have one? It wants to punish them. So, from now on, for every soul your friends free, one of them is going to have to stay. And, Captain... you get to decide who."


A/N: Several references here. Hades references "A Pirate's Life For Me," which is the song on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at the Disney parks. "Witchcraft" is a Frank Sinatra song and I'm very sorry that I put Ol' Blue Eyes in Underbrooke, and I'm even sorrier you won't be seeing or hearing from him. I'm sure he and the other UW residents will get some closure by the end of the story arc. Hades' "I'm cool" line is a reference to Hercules, and lastly, "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered" is another Sinatra song. Thought it was appropriate. Well, the good news is we are done with Ms. Wet Blanket Meg. Coming up? Sheriff Swan always gets her man.