There was something wrong with this place…as if that hadn't been obvious from the first moment he'd arisen.

The town. He wanted to go to the town.

But the moment he stepped outside the cabin into the odd red and yellow fog of this realm, he'd been struck by another sight he hadn't expected. His car was in the driveway. Not a car for him to drive. His car. Or at least...it looked like his car. The make and model were identical. All the features his car had, this one also had, hell, he'd even found a gun with a bent barrel in the glove compartment. But the license plate was different. It was from somewhere in Montana. And as for the state of it...it was just like the house Deteriorating. Decaying. The tires were flat, the wand for the turn signal was missing, and the trunk wouldn't stay closed. It was the same, but different. And it led him to one logical conclusion.

If the cabin was here, if it was so detailed down to the blanket on the back of it, if his car was here, and for fuck's sake, if his gun was here, then he wanted to go to town. He wanted to see the extent to which this place resembled Storybrooke. Knowledge was power. He could investigate the similarities further in many ways, he knew. He could search the other cabins around the lake that suddenly smelled like sulfur. He could go to his house. He could go to Belle's apartment! But if he was here in hell, then that meant he was alone. He'd have no Belle or Baelfire or Henry to seek out, which meant that the best thing he could do for himself was look for something familiar instead of someone.

He'd started at the cabin, the logical next step would have been to see if his house was here, but without his family, his house had never really felt like home. His shop, on the other hand, his shop was home. His shop was warm and welcoming; even if it was in a place like this, he wanted to see it. Besides, he wanted to know, if his cabin was here with a copy of the blanket he kept on the couch, what else was here. His shop was stuffed full of treasures that he knew would be very helpful in a situation like this. He'd trust no one else to some of those objects except for himself. It was a logical place to begin.

When he was done examining the car, after he'd checked and made sure that it wasn't working even with magic, he closed his eyes. He chose his point of entry carefully. If a town existed and it was a copy, then he didn't just want to appear on the main street. The girl who had raised him, whoever she was, proved that there were more people in this world. And the dog proved that there were unfriendly people in this world. He needed to be careful. So instead, he pictured himself standing alongside Granny's building in the small alleyway. It was small enough to keep him hidden if the street looked unsafe but big enough that he could judge what he was getting himself into.

He closed his eyes, imagined, let the magic pulse through him, and when he opened his eyes…he was in Storybrooke.

Beside him was Granny's diner, behind him, the Bed and Breakfast, and in front of him, just beyond the dilapidated seating area…that was Storybrooke. Main Street, to be exact. It looked…it looked normal, but wrong at the same time. Smokestacks, red and white monstrosities taller than him, were planted all along the street, one in the diner area itself, churning out white, sulfur-smelling smoke. Somewhere nearby, a car backfired, and another engine whined painfully. Still, seeing the people walking up and down the street and sidewalk took his breath away. Some were dressed as he was, ready for a day in twenty-first-century America. But others were dressed in clothes he recognized from the Enchanted Forest, while others still wandered by in items that didn't fit either. One woman walked by in a ballgown so large he was confident it would never fit through Granny's gate.

It was an assortment of people, places, and times; all shoved into an Underworld. And that Underworld resembled Storybrooke?

He considered himself one of the most intelligent men in the realms, but even he couldn't begin to figure that out. Logically, either this world was modeled after Storybrooke or Storybrooke was modeled after this world. And seeing as how Storybrooke was a creation of Regina's and she had never been dead, he assumed it was the former. But…why would anyone choose to create a hell that looked like Storybrooke?

He took a deep breath. Questions without answers were only a puzzle for him, a riddle. It was something he longed to get the answer for, but it was only one of many. He wanted to check on Baelfire, Henry, and Belle; that was his priority. And he certainly wasn't going to do it by standing here and-

A sound from around the corner nearly made him jump. He pulled himself all the way back behind the wall as he listened to a low tone followed by the noise again. A snort of some kind. Was that…was that a pig? Were animals beside three-headed dogs in the Underworld?

Curiosity got the better of him, and he turned the corner to look into the patioed area.

He felt his eyes widen and his heart race at what stalked toward him. It was a large greenish-brown pig with black spiky hair and tusks and-

The pig opened its mouth as it advanced on him; he only caught a glimpse of the fire before he turned back into the alleyway for shelter and watched as the fencing beside him erupted into flames that smelled like brimstone. That was followed by a sharp squeal, almost like the creature was in pain or had been attacked, and then around the corner stalked a man; tan-skinned, eyes so brown they were nearly black, a white shirt that looked too big, and pants from their world. Had he slain the beast? Had he killed it and come to tell him it was safe? Rescued him like some damsel?

No. The look in his eyes was not peaceful or settled. And they were pinned right on him.

"Finally…" the man muttered before stepping forward with an unnatural speed.

Pain burst to life across his jaw, and the world went black for a moment, then sideways, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself on his back, his jaw broken along with his nose and maybe part of his cheek. He must have looked a sight because there stood the man, no longer advancing, just staring at him with hatred and anger and-

Overwhelmed with those same emotions and an instinct to protect himself, he reached out his hand and shot a gust of air at the stranger. He was blown off his feet and skidded several feet down the alley. It was only then that he realized how far off his own feet a single punch from the man had thrown him. A few feet would have been normal, but to have been punched and end up at the back of the diner, was unnatural.

What the hell was this place? And who the hell was that?! And why was he…laughing?

The world crawled to a stop at that moment. In the echo of that laughter, his pain vanished, his anger relinquished, and his questioning ceased.

He knew that laugh.

He'd heard it dozens of times over the last couple of centuries. That exact cadence of laughter lived in his own damn head!

He tried to contain his shock as he directed his magic to heal himself quickly, then stood up and used more magic to restrain the laughing man. He forced his body onto the ground and pinned him there with his limbs spread out so that he resembled an "X" with a head. Only then did he advance on him, but still with caution. He continued to chuckle madly. It was unnerving.

As he approached and finally got a good look at the man's face, he did his best to contain his shock, but as he stared at him slack-jawed in amazement, he figured he was doing a poor job of it. Hell, the man's face even looked familiar! But he wasn't familiar because he'd ever known him or even because he'd met him. The memory he possessed of this man...it wasn't his memory. It was-

"Zoso should have been the one to take that punch. I've been waiting over three hundred fucking years to give it to him, but in that bastard's absence, I'm hoping you'll do," he growled.

Zoso…

"You're-"

"That's right, Dark One, I'm you, only older."

And he'd been waiting for Zoso, which meant…the voices in his head began whispering in his mind, the man who stood before him now, his voice echoed in his own godsdamned mind like some kind of parlor trick. It wasn't his voice he was hearing, not really. It was the memory of his voice, the essence of who he'd been, an imprint upon his Curse…he whispered his name in his head without the actual him even knowing it.

"You're Gorgon…the boar shifter."

The man chuckled on the ground even as he lay restrained. "Now he gets it. And I bet it was me that told you, wasn't it?"

He relinquished his magic. He didn't see the purpose of holding him down. Not only did he seem calm now, but he'd said he had been saving a punch for Zoso. He'd taken that punch. With any luck, he didn't have anything left in him or any need to hit him again. But of course, that begged the question…

"You've been waiting three hundred years to throw a single punch?" he questioned as Gorgon got to his feet.

"Fucking bastard…shouldn't have had to wait this long. It's tradition. My predecessor punched me; his predecessor punched him. I should have had my go with Zoso. I was owed my due. But that asshole figured out a way to skip over this place. He's the only Dark One to ever manage that, at least as far as I can tell."

He was listening intently to his words. He'd just explained a relatively simple story, but it felt like there was more to it than there seemed. All Dark Ones came here, but Zoso skipped it over? Why the hell was he so fucking special?

Watch that tone, Rumple!

"Why didn't Zoso end up here?" he questioned out loud as he quietly told his predecessor to shut the fuck up in his head. Between Storybrooke being the Underworld, a Dark One in the flesh and his head at once, and then the rest of the Dark Ones in his head chattering away with their theories, he was beginning to get a headache.

Gorgon didn't seem to have the same problem. Again, he let out that same unnerving chuckle he'd had earlier. It was incredulous and humorous all at once, like he couldn't decide if he was angry or amused. "Because of you, Rumpelstiltskin, because of the deal he made with you and all he convinced you to do. You see…we Dark Ones meet our fate unexpectedly and before our time. It's inevitable. Someone seeks our power, and we're all cocky, so we think we can't go wrong, and then before we know it, we're on the other end of the Dark One dagger, and we never planned on it. We all have unfinished business. But Zoso…Zoso-"

"Zoso planned it," he realized before Gorgon could say anything further. He didn't need to look into Zoso's memories to know that; he only had to know his own story. Zoso hadn't been tricked. He'd been the one to do the tricking, willingly giving the power away.

"Exactly. We all get sent here to deal with our unfinished business, but that bastard…he figured out a way around it. It was you. He plotted his own death, and you fell for it. He was ready to die and had no unfinished business so there was never a need for him to come here. I watched him for a long time, waiting and hoping, longing for my fucking chance to give him a piece of what he deserved for taking my life from me. After he died, I scoured the Underworld, but he never showed up, never had a stone, never arrived. Unable to give him a good punch to the face, I was forced to wait here, for you. I wasn't watching, but I knew the second you arrived because my power started calling out to your power. So now…I'm done!

"I've wanted to throw that punch since that asshole took my powers. I can't get even with Zoso, so with any luck, I've gotten even with you. Hopefully, the stars are aligned or fixed or whatever bullshit is needed for the crossover, and I can finally rest. Have a nice life, Dark One. Enjoy your purgatory; tell the next one I say 'hi.'"

"Crossover?" he questioned as Gorgon began to make his way to the gate. "What do you mean by Crossover?"

Gorgon paused and looked back at him with a grin on his face. "You've much to learn about this new world, boy. Lucky for you, you've got all the time in the world. I'm done with it."

"Wait!" he called out as he headed for the gate. It was odd, he'd never met another Dark One other than Zoso, but he felt strangely connected to the man, like he was kin but not really. The closest he could get to describing it was the bond he'd felt with Milah's brothers. Family, but not family all at once. Gorgon lived in his head. He had his memories. He was like a psychotic version of a conscious! He wanted to stop him. He knew he could stop him; he was the Dark One! He should capture him and force it out of him. But it was some sort of unknown courtesy that prevented him. That and the voice in his head telling him he was too stubborn ever to give information he didn't give over willingly. If he hadn't told him more, then he wouldn't tell him more. It was useless.

But, fortunately for him, Gorgon stopped. Perhaps it was the same unknown courtesy.

"Please," he begged when he turned back to him, picking out the one crucial thing he'd said. "You said you watched me become the Dark One; you must know I have a family, a boy…I need to see him. How did you do it? One Dark One to another," he urged, appealing to that sense of familiarity on the instructions of…well…Gorgon! Or at least the version of Gorgon that existed in his head.

The Dark One didn't seem pleased with being stopped again but sighed all the same. He shrugged, reached behind his back, and from where he didn't know, but he pulled out a softball-sized ball that he tossed at him.

"You may as well have it. Try not to lose it; those are rare commodities down here. Good luck…Rumpelstiltskin."

He watched as the man turned to go through the gate and headed along the sidewalk. Gorgon had the answers to all the questions he found himself asking. But he didn't stop him. He should have, but he knew the dramatics of Dark Ones better than anyone. There would be no further information from him, not today, at least. So instead, he looked down at the object he'd tossed to him and nearly cried at his luck.

A punch to the face and a broken jaw was worth a looking glass.

This fiction has a big job. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, but this chapter is an excellent example of just some of the things that have to be accomplished. When we see Rumple return to the Underworld in season 5, it's clear it's not his first time. He knows things. So I had to figure out a way to give him this knowledge without letting him meet people like Hades, who it's clear he'd never met before. In season five, Rumple mentions that all Dark Ones come to the Underworld because of their unfinished business. This encounter allows Rumple to make that statement without compromising any story hints from the future. Clear as mud? I hope so because that's what a lot of these chapters are going to feature. There's another story, too, but every chapter will pick up some kind of nugget that will allow him to be the knowledgeable Underbrooke Tour Guide in season 5.

Peace and Happy Reading!