"So, what, exactly, is the point of finding my tombstone?"

"Well, I'm told they're useful, you know...magically. I just figured you being..."

"Magical," he filled in quickly.

"One word for it. I just figured that if there was anything you really needed to know, it should be the gravestones. But, in order to use the gravestones correctly, you obviously have to know where it is, so...we search."

"You'd think there'd be a map."

"Well, supposedly there is one, but it's only for the person in charge. You could go to town hall and request a time to look at it, but the line you'll stand in to get the forms will take far longer than it will to look. Besides, it's not like there's much else to do here besides walk the graveyard." She swept her arm out before her, and sure enough, for the first time, he realized they weren't alone. In the distance, he could see people, they were but specs from where he stood, but he could see them there, even through the fog, walking the graves, reading names, searching...

They were distant. Milah had mentioned that there was some reasoning for the groupings. She'd said something about them being based on geography and time. That was likely why Milah, her brothers, her father, and Margery were all within throwing distance from one another. That was why she'd suggested they look here for his. Logically it checked out, but given the secret that he was carrying, the suspicion that weighed him down, he didn't expect to find anything more than old names that he remembered from the village. The woman from down the street he'd sold yarn to, the boy who had died of pneumonia, soldier after soldier in his old regiment. Nearly all were toppled, cracked, or overgrown. It didn't escape his notice Milah's was one of the rare few in this area that was still in good shape. She'd been here a long time.

"You never did tell me what your unfinished business was."

"That's because it's mine to tell," she pointed out, rising from where she'd been examining a small grave. "I wasn't joking around. A person's unfinished business down here is their most precious possession. We're not exactly all given pieces of paper with them written down on, so the journey to figure it out and resolve it is sometimes a long one. It's deeply personal, and it's considered rude to ask someone about it outright. We're all just trying to make the best out of our situation as we work through our issues. If you want to share yours, then share it. If not, then keep it close. No one will ask you about it."

Don't ask and don't tell unfinished business…that rule felt right up his alley. But as to the rest…

"You said the maps were accessible by the person in charge. Who is that exactly?" he questioned.

"Officially?" Milah let out a sigh and pulled some gloves out of her pocket. "It's Hades."

Once again, he set his face to hide his shock and wonder. This was the second time he was hearing this name only, unlike the first time when his father had mentioned it, and he had hardly paid it any attention, now…he was listening.

"Hades…god of the underworld…" he clarified, making sure it wasn't some punk like his father that had just taken on an ironic nickname.

"One in the same," she said casually. "But don't worry about him. He has his favorites, which he keeps with him in his lair at all times. As for the man himself, we don't see him often. Unofficially, he's currently got someone new serving as town Mayor after the last one worked through their issues. Now some vile woman, I'm not sure of her name. I haven't really seen much of her, but what do you expect from an elected official that was never technically elected in the first place."

Her voice faded out as he focused on containing his shock. Hades was real. The gods were real. That reality left him stupefied and, frankly, maybe a little fearful. He'd never resisted religion, but he'd never really bought into it either. And now…well…now it was too late. He was what he was and who he was. Redemption for him wasn't an option unless he could rewrite his entire story, but that would take a kind of magic that was almost as legendary as the gods! And it would take time; time he reckoned his heart didn't have given his age and deeds, assuming, of course, that he was alive. But still…the gods were real!

"It's late. I have to leave to go to work."

Work. There was work in a place like this. He supposed that explained Pan in his shop, but what that meant for Milah…it didn't matter. The deal they'd made was binding. She'd shown him this place; now he had to leave her alone and solve the rest of it himself. As much as it pained him to admit it, she'd provided useful information. Information that he felt he could use as a jumping-off point. It might not get him home, but at least it would assist in his journey.

She left him there in the cemetery at his request, and he watched her drive away, hoping that this would, in fact, be the last time he ever saw her face. He continued to wander. And as he wandered, he pondered. Pondering and wandering turned into days spent in that cemetery, walking the lines, reading names, and mapping it out the best way he could. He found both his aunts on one particularly sad day, side by side, just the way he knew they would have wanted. He found Mr. Oak and even that Atlantean Healer, Fendrake. Fendrake's stone still stood, but his aunts and Mr. Oak, he was nearly moved to tears to see theirs toppled on the ground. Happy endings had found them. He found more from his past, more than he would have liked. Rolf was toppled over on his side. A witch he'd once known and despised had a great crack through the center, which brought him, perhaps, a little too much glee. Cora's stone, much to his displeasure, still stood new and proud, indicating that she was here somewhere. If it were up to him, he'd rather endure a reunion with Milah again than Cora. Belle's mother-toppled, Gaston-still standing, Tamara-cracked, Greg-still standing, Nimue-cracked, Gorgon-cracked, person after person he sought out and located. He found every stone he wanted to with only one exception…his own.

Of course, to check all the stones would likely be impossible given what he had to do, but if Milah was right and there was rhyme and reason to this cemetery, then he felt he'd checked all the most likely places and come up dry. He supposed that if he wanted to, he could go to the mayor as Milah had suggested. He was certain he could bypass whatever lines she had mentioned, but that would mean drawing attention to himself that he'd rather not have if he wasn't dead. Information was power. It had been a long time since he'd had to play that game, but he supposed that being in a different realm than his son and love had put him back into that mindset. If he wasn't dead, then he didn't want anyone else to know. It was all but confirmed that he wasn't dead. He'd play by that rule until he had reason to believe otherwise.

But if he wasn't dead, if he wasn't on some journey to right the unfinished business of his past, then how the hell was he supposed to get out of here?

That was the question he'd set himself to considering these last few days.

He'd started venturing into town more. He avoided the Pawn Shop despite the fact that he feared there might be things he needed there. If it turned out that there were, then he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he was content to ignore the Shop and his father unless interacting with him proved to be absolutely necessary.

The trouble with that was that it would only be necessary when he knew what he was looking for. And he could only know what he was looking for if he had the proper knowledge.

There was the rub. Knowledge of distant realms and magical spells, of psychology and manipulation, how to sell water to a fish and mount a legal defense, he had that and then some. But knowledge of the afterlife…that he had always actively avoided. What good was religion to him? He was the Dark One he was destined for…what had Milah called it? The Worse Place? Every single Dark One he'd seen in that cemetery had their stones cracked. They were confirmation that there was nothing he could do to save his soul, so why bother fighting what he couldn't? He'd lived to see his child again, never thinking a day would come that he'd need to have knowledge of gods and Hades and purgatory. He had no theology of his own, and that was killing him at the moment.

He'd tried the few books at his house, but they were no good. They were mostly about the Black Fairy, and that may have been his version of hell, but it certainly wasn't this version. He needed outside resources. Fortunately, because this place was, for whatever reason, trying to copy Storybrooke, and he happened to be in love with a librarian, he knew precisely where to look for them first.

Across the street from the Pawn Shop, the Storybrooke Library sat. It looked an awful lot like it had during the Curse; windows papered and boarded, broken glass, peeling paint, and a locked door that meant nothing to him.

He appeared inside what he could only assume was Belle's nightmare. The shelves were dusty to the point that they were downright grimy. It smelled not of old books but rather of too much water and fog mixed with that smell of sulfur. There was no order to it, at least none that he could see. The books were stacked and piled and filled with books of all types, some that looked relatively unharmed, but many that appeared burned, waterlogged, and in the case of one sitting on a ripped chair in a back corner, had a bite taken out of it by a rather large animal.

But that ominous sign wasn't what worried him most of all. It was the fact that this library also had an elevator. And the feeling of the magic coming off of it…he didn't like it. In Storybrooke, the elevator was a passage to nothing good. Going up, he'd used it as a hiding place for the dagger, and so had Greg and Tamara for Hook. The clock tower was practically a secret lair. And going down would have brought him face to face with Maleficent in whatever form she may have been in now. Nothing good came from that elevator. And in a place where it seemed like good was a hot commodity, he suspected the elevator here was to be avoided at all costs, at least until he had some kind of idea where it might lead to, or at least until he had some kind of idea what the hell kind of magic was coming off of it! It was magic, that much he knew. But it didn't feel like light or dark magic. He couldn't sense heart or head magic either. It was different than anything he'd ever felt before. Powerful, but natural in a way. Knowledge was power, but curiosity killed the cat. If he wasn't already dead, then he'd like to stay that way. He'd be avoiding that elevator until he could get some solid answers about it, or at least until he could begin to properly theorize what it might be and where it might go.

In light of that, he made his trip to the library a quick one. Or at least as quick as he could. He plowed through the shelves, taking what looked important. He found Bibles and Qurans, and a few Greek and Roman texts that he thought might be especially helpful. He found a book from their world that told stories of the ancient rivers of the dead and those who traversed them. A few spell books that were in relatively good shape topped the stack. He wanted to take more, but he reminded himself that the books weren't going anywhere, and no one in this neighborhood seemed to be dying to check books out of the library. He could always come back for more if he needed to.

Prizes in hand, he took himself back to his own lair, threw himself into a chair, and began to read.

This is a fairly straightforward chapter. We see the end of Milah and Rumple (for now because of that little loophole in the agreement they made), and the start of Rumple beginning to gather what he has always believed was one of the most valuable things a person could have...knowledge.

Thank you so much for your consistent reviews, Jennifer and Rsbeall. I know it's slow going with this fiction at first, but I do promise it's going to pick up as we go forward. Peace and Happy Reading!