Attention: Please Stop and Read Before Continuing

This little plot bunny has been bouncing around in my head since season four first aired and I attempted to write it. With Disney's acquisition of the Percy Jackson series, the pieces finally fit together. So certain premises and aspects of the Percy Jackson story come into play and Hades is less cartoony and more menacing.

That being said, you do not need to have read the books to read but this is more just a warning that if you're looking for the Hades and Underbrooke *OUAT version of hell* you're not going to find them here.

This is completely AU post season 4.

Emma's plan to go down to the Underworld and share her heart with Hook to resurrect him went without a hitch.

May contain trigger warnings due to the dark future being well… dark. Lots of character deaths in the flashbacks (or would it be forwards?) but all our favorite characters are very much alive in the present… The question is: will they stay that way?

The prelude is very OC-centric but don't worry. The characters we know and love will be here before you know it.

Thanks for bearing with me, and without further ado…

The Prelude:

And to make an end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from. -T.S. Eliot

[The Atlantic Ocean]

-29 years into Unchanged Future-

Though masked by many interpretations and religious beliefs, hell is often seen as a place of torture and suffering; more often than not it was also believed to be the afterlife but there was never a general consensus until now. Now anyone left breathing knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is hell.

It all began with World War III, a war unlike its predecessors. Napalm and bullets gave way to monsters and mayhem. The war waged wasn't between countries but between humans and things that were thought to be outside the realm of possibility. Yes, things dubbed works of fiction found in Greek mythology and realms not of this Earth came out of the woodworks and tore the world asunder. War erupted and cities and landforms collapsed as the carnage of battle crippled nations and change the landscape of civilization forever. Hades rules all and hell is all around. His minions of the undead and monsters making what's left of humanity either bow down or join in the endless list of casualties… a list the brooding pirate has managed to narrowly escape too many times to count. Yet he always did. By some twist of fate- one which the rogue hasn't fully come to terms with- he is still breathing which is more than he can say for everyone he's ever loved or cared for.

If he closes his eyes and focuses hard enough, he swears he can almost hear their echoes through the rigging, the once happy ship filled with laughter long gone. All he has now is memories and the haunting echo of what once was. Magnificent baby blues that mirror the hues of the Caribbean flicker open to the empty ship, his solitude solidified. He stands at the helm of the Jolly Roger, the once magnificent ship- like everything else in the world- has indeed seen better days. But the old girl still cuts through the treacherous seas with a youthful rebellion. Her mast still like an upraised fist, challenging the waters to do their worst.

He likes to tell himself that her spirit is the spirit of those he lost along the way: his sister's rebellion, his brother's determination, his uncle's mischief… but he knows that it is more likely just his attempt to avoid the madness of being alone. In an attempt to pull himself from his musings, the pirate pulls a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his distressed leather jacket that was his father's and removes one. He goes on to place it between slightly chapped lips and snaps his fingers magically creating a flame that seems to emanate from his fingertips, and lights it up before taking a long, deep drag. He lets it permeate his lungs because it is only when the chemicals are bouncing around inside he feels alive. Brilliant blue shifts back down to the cigarette as it sits between the cybernetic knuckles of the robotic hardware that comprises the majority of his left arm. They trail the length of the cigarette to the burning end glowing in a mix of orange, black, and grey. The burning paper and tobacco always seems to send him back to the battlefield.

The world around him was scorching in a fire and crumbling into particles of ash deteriorating before his very eyes. In history, the most memorable battles were ones mirroring David and Goliath. Small armies outnumbered and outgunned fighting the good fight. But what the pirate would soon realize was that they weren't remembered for their victories, but for their fight to the finish spirit. As the Resistance took its final stand, it becomes more and more apparent that this is one of those battles. This was their Alamo.

Ashes fall like snow upon the battlefield- which wasn't a field but the ruins of the once towering grandeur that was New York City but now a mere bloodstained backdrop- and rained down on the pirate as he slowly started to regain consciousness. It rolled over him like waves lapping against the shore. The piercing ring that had been present since he first began to stir slowly lifted replaced with the fearsome flap of demonic wings, the roars of raging fires, and most prominent the cries of his comrades as they fell like toy soldiers. A determination surges within him to rejoin the battle and his eyes forced themselves open. Immediately, they were assaulted by the horrors of battle: dead bodies strewn across the ruins of buildings, vehicles on fire, monsters picking off what few fighters remained… but all those horrors paled in comparison to what he saw next.

He set his sights on the leader of the Resistance, Henry Mills. He was leaning against the charred skeleton of a car, hot crimson spilling out his abdomen despite the leader's best attempts to stem the blood flow. He was as ashen as the falling cinders. But there was still life in his eyes and he was trying to say something. The pirate shook the distant sounds from his mind and focused in on Henry.

"Killian," the leader called, his strangled cries finally hitting his soldier's ears. "Ian!"

Ian tries to respond but a croak is all he could manage. He tries to reach for Henry, but he sees he doesn't have much of a left arm remaining- just a series of disfiguring burns leading to nothing below the elbow. His forearm, wrist, and even fingers were completely gone. The immensity of the pain had finally caught up to him like falling asleep- slowly then all at once. It was all consuming and immeasurable but nothing was stronger than his loyalty to Henry or his need to save him. Using his uninjured arm, Ian clawed his way to Henry's side, his fingers on his right hand digging into the rubble until he reached him.

"I got you, little brother," Henry gurgled, the crimson bile in his throat slurring the words.

Even in the face of death, Henry showed no fear. Instead of pushing down onto his wound, Henry had his arm encircle Ian… a protective big brother until the end. A noise escapes Henry's lips causing Ian to look at him with disbelief. It wasn't a groan or a gurgle of blood but laughter. Even in the shadow of death, Henry reminded Ian why so many followed him and why Ian would follow him even into death.

And this is how their story was supposed to end. Ian was supposed to die beside his brother.

But fate had other plans.

Or more accurately, she had other plans.

Across the battlefield walked a stark contrast to the horrors surrounding. She was beautiful, one of the most beautiful women that Ian had ever set sight on. She had a perfect halo of gold hair like lightning and she walked with an airiness that seemed angelic. At first that's exactly what he thought she was. An angel. A goddess sent to carry him and Henry to heaven… but something told him he wasn't entirely right. Despite the natural beauties stunning characteristics, there was something unsettling just beneath her skin. Something tragic just behind her eyes. That something told Ian Jones exactly who she was. She was his. She belonged to Hades.

Realizing that she was Persephone, the wife of Hades, Ian pulled himself closer to his brother, a growl of pain erupting from his lips. He wouldn't let her take Henry in the name of Hades. He would protect Henry just as he had done for him his whole life.

"You can't have him," Ian growled, his good hand leaving his brother's wound as he tried desperately to summon the magic within. But again his body betrayed him, too tired and far too weak to summon his powers.

She drew closer kneeling beside him, the coldness radiating from the blonde stifling the air in his lungs. Then she leaned in, soft lips capturing his. "He's not the one I want."

"Those things'll kill you, Ian," a sultry voice calls pulling him from the nightmarish memory.

Tendrils of tobacco smoke spill out of his mouth and disperse into the nighttime air as he looks up at the woman that saved him that fateful day. Persephone. Like a caged animal, she yearned to be free from beneath Hades oppressive thumb. She belonged in the forest. She shined. She craved the feel of her beloved forest floor beneath her feet. She longed to relish in the freedom that only nature could give and she finally had it she thought when he rose to power. But he leaves destruction in his wake. The Earth turned black under his tread.

Those who say it's better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven didn't know the plight of Persephone.

But he did.

"Right, because in the end that's what'll kill me," Ian grumbled putting it out just the same.

Golden curls flashed across her face as the wind rips and whirls in the night. As she steps in the light, he swears her skin begins to glow. His gaze switches down to his boots and doesn't waiver as if they have become the most fascinating thing in the world. He doesn't want to look up at Persephone because he knows exactly what will happen. He'll crave the touch of perfect porcelain skin, want to caress the apples of her cheeks that were stained red by roses. She'll bat her eyelashes- perfect black feathers fanning over gorgeous green orbs- and it will have an almost hypnotic effect. And those lips… those perfect, plump lips will be his ultimate downfall. He'll want to kiss them and pull his name from her mouth, pepper the letters across her jaw, the crook of her neck. Every sweet-nothing will spin in his ears, thread through his mind, and take over him.

And he's fallen prey to her charms one too many times. This time he needs to be thinking with the proper head. "Did you bring it, love?"

"Love? Very fitting in this scenario, don't 'cha think?" she teased. Oh, the devilish games she played! For someone who wanted to be free of Hades, she sure liked to act like him. Dangling what he wanted in front of him, his torture and her glee. He doesn't speak prompting her to giggle with fiendish delight. "Come now, Ian. I have your precious totem of love."

His heart thundered so hard in his chest at the possibility, that it took everything in him to remain stoic as he looked at her and dove into their wicked game once more. They were constantly at war, chaotically challenging one another for control. The one who cared less held the cards, and the last thing he wanted to do was show his hand. The most irritating of smirks curled at the edge of her lips as she nonchalantly played with the shining jewel that adorned her ring finger. He quirked his eyebrow at the fact her usual over-lavish rock that she typically wore on that finger was replaced by the ring he so desperately coveted. Crossing his arms over his chest, he drew near. Rugged boots clicking across the weathered boards of the ship until he's almost to the blonde goddess seated upon the gunwale of the ship. "Hmm… I must've missed the part where I proposed."

He wore a smirk turning up at the corner of his mouth that always seemed to appear on his handsome visage following a smart remark. A rebuttal is on the tip of the blonde's tongue but is silenced by the shock of him stepping up between her legs, the texture of his rough hands meeting her thighs. Her balance shifts slightly- her precarious perch nearly sending her down into the depths of the deep blue below- but catlike reflexes sent her legs wrapping around his waist to compensate and steady herself. His grip tightened enough to reel her back in, hands slipping from her thigh to her hips. It was ironic for them to be tangled up this way, him pulling her back from the brink of death as she had done for him that day on the battlefield.

"My hero," she whispers in his ear, her breath maddeningly hot on his skin. Wandering hands danced across his chest, traveling over his black henley shirt and dipping beneath his jacket.

"Fraid those are extinct," he muttered- a sadness in his voice that pained her heart- before crooking his neck so that slightly chapped lips could connect with her jawline and send them trailing down to her neck. Her hand slips up into his flaxen mane. Her fingers weaved into his locks as he placed a single kiss upon her pulse. She was thankful he couldn't see the expression of raw desire on her face.

"Well, with this totem, we have a chance to rectify that," she coos, hardly able to recognize her own voice because it was low and throatily laced in desire.

But, something told Ian the desire in her voice was about more than him. When she pulled him from the battlefield, he knew it wasn't out of the goodness of her heart. She needed a soldier for her mission. To go back. To save the beauty of the world- or so she said. But he knew her to be a woman of ulterior motives, and he couldn't trust that's all she wanted.

"Sorry, love," he whispers, and Persephone stared in stupefied disbelief as he detangles himself from her… a dark look on his face she couldn't fathom until she subconsciously reached for him and found her movement restricted. Her eyes slip down to the limb, horror filling her as she realizes not only had the sneaky pirate stole the ring from her finger but had used enchanted chains to shackle her wrist as well.

Disbelief quickly gives way to fury, red hot rage bubbling out. Through gritted teeth she growls as she begins to struggle against the restraint. "You bloody pirate!"

A barrage of cuss words escapes the goddess's lips at Ian's betrayal but he's too engrossed in the ring in his hand to hear. To the untrained eye it was your typical run of the mill engagement ring. Certainly not worth scouring the Earth and Underworld for in a monetary value. Sentimental value on the other hand. It was the ring Killian Jones used to propose to Emma Swan. Their love was one of the greatest he'd ever known. She'd literally gone to hell to bring him back… which was exactly what brought about the end of the world. By opening the gates and pulling Killian from the river, she freed Hades as well. Which was another reason he decided that it had to be the love totem for enacting Zelena's time travel spell. The poetic justice of using the ring that symbolized the love that brought about the end of the world to fix it was too perfect to pass up.

"Release me this instant! We had a deal."

"You and Henry had a deal. I don't owe you anything," he quickly corrected.

Ian looked at the blonde throwing a tantrum and stomping her foot like a petulant child, clenching her fists with barely tampered rage and demanding her release. He did feel a slight pang of guilt seeing her in such a state. She had after all done so much to make the trip back possible but that was also part of the reason he felt vindicated in leaving her behind. The Resistance's last stand had been crafted by her and Henry to lull Hades into a false sense of security, to let him think he had won, but it also forced Ian's hand. She and Henry made it so Ian had to either get on board with Operation Phoenix or let everyone he ever cared about have died in vain.

So, for five years Ian kept his head down and played the good little soldier. Jumped when she said jump. Did everything she asked of him. Let her think he was another puppet she was able to manipulate. Made her believe he had no choice but to play along knowing one day he'd cut the strings. He may not have had a choice in the mission but how he went about it was something different entirely. 'You may not be able to choose the way the wind blows,' he hears his father's voice echo in his head, 'but you can choose how you sail in it.'

"The way I see it," he starts, his voice thick with thought. He tosses the ring up and down in his hand in a seemingly playful way but every feature on his handsome visage was taut with emotion. Beautiful blue has turned dark and stormy as his gaze lifts from the ring and settles on her. "The way I see it there's two possibilities. Either you truly only want to go back and stop Hades, or you have ulterior motives. I'm inclined to believe you, Seph, but I can't take the chance I'm wrong about you."

As he turns his back on her he can hear her pulling tightly on her shackles again and her murderous cries as she tries desperately to get her hands on him solidifying his resolve to leave her behind. In a puff of navy smoke, he disappears before her eyes.

"You damn pirate," she curses after him.

But he was already gone.

Going back to the start.

xXx

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