It was weird being in the Underworld, everything looking like it had been turned completely inside out as I walked down familiar streets. It was a mirror image of Storybrooke, though it was a darker version; decaying away and frozen. "Now this is a story all about how my life got flipped-turned upside down," I mumble under my breath, turning my head this way and that to take everything in at once.

The upper part of the library that housed the clock was on the street, the asphalt underneath it cracked and shattered, the hands of the clock standing still like the one in Storybrooke had been before the Savior came. People milled about in different stages of depression, dark circles under dull eyes, hunched shoulders, shuffling along like zombies. It was like something out of a disaster movie, the aftermath where people were trying to pull themselves back together with no hope in their eyes. That was the weirdest thing about the Underworld by far.

No hope.

The docks had boats moored there, but they looked like they'd been ransacked; even the Jolly Roger had more damage than usual and she's been through a fucking portal for crying out loud. Three times. I shake my head, the heels of my shoes sounding loud against the sidewalk, a brisk wind blowing my hair across my face and making it hard to see where I'm going.

I'm not even sure where that is until I stop in front of a familiar building, cracks running up the bricks, the glass window smudged. Mr. Gold's Antiquities and Pawn Shop was on the sign hanging above me, though the plastic had taken a hard blow in the center. It's Papa's store, a familiar landmark that instantly made a calmness wash over me as I ran my fingers over the smooth metal of the door handle. This was a safe place, this wasn't completely tainted by the Underworld, this belonged to the one person I've always known loved me without doubt.

This was my Papa's store and I'd be damned if I'd leave it in a state of disrepair. With a goal in mind, I pull a familiar key from the pocket of my coat, the top of it decorated with a Sharpie butterfly in different shades of pink and blue that I've had for over twenty-eight years. I slide it into the lock and turn it without a problem, slipping it back into my pocket before opening the door and stepping inside. After flipping on the lights, the items inside were revealed as broken or dusty, or a combination of the pair, and I let out a long sigh. This would take a lot of work to fix up, but if anyone would control the Bizarro World version of Papa's store, then it would be me.

"Better than starting from scratch," I mutter, grabbing the broom that was on the floor close to my shoe and beginning to sweep, stirring up years of caked on dust and who knows what else. That's one perk of being dead, I suppose, no allergies. Aw man, I bet they don't have pizza down here. Now officially sad about being a doornail, I use a little more force than necessary to sweep the floors.

"Aveena Jones." I tense at the unfamiliar voice behind me, turning with the broom held like I'd hold a bat, feet squared and eyes narrowed at the man standing a few feet inside the store. He's thin as a rail in every sense of the word and dressed in a professionally tailored suit of dark brown with a blue silken tie, short blonde hair, pale skin, and a pair of blue eyes that seemed to stare right through me. His stance was casual as he met my stare, unafraid of me bashing his fine cheekbones with my broom.

"Sorry, pal, we're not open for business yet." He huffs out a laugh, his smile reminding me of the one my papa wore around guests that he thought were beneath him. Come to think of it, he mainly wore it around Mary Margaret or Regina. The man paces the store languidly, running the tip of a finger along one of the glass display cases and leaving a clean line in the dirt. I turn to follow him with my eyes, tightening my grip on the wooden handle. "That means leave, you braindead buffoon."

"No need for name callings when I'm just here to introduce myself to the new arrival." He gives me that smile again and I send a matching one back. I can play this game too, sweetie. "You're Aveena Jones, biological daughter of one Killian Jones—a little prickly, but I'm working on him—Milah Jones, and the stolen ward of Rumpelstiltskin. I guess you were a little princess back in the Enchanted Forest, huh?" He gives a mocking bow, keeping his head up to stare at me. It was weird, almost like the blue irises were flickering and dancing in the red light streaming in from outside, like he had his own personal fire burning in him.

"Nice trick," she murmurs sarcastically. "Do you perform at kids' parties too or am I just lucky?" He gives a toothy grin as he straightens up again, a magical fire engulfing his hair that was the same color as his eyes. "Oh…."

"Mm, a little slow, aren't you?"

"Well, in my defense, I died twenty minutes ago." Hades comes closer, using his magic to turn the broom to dust before roughly grabbing the front of my coat and yanking me closer so he could whisper in my ear.

"Dead or not, Aveena, there are certainly worse things that could happen to the people you love if you cross me. Now, I'm sure your family and friends will be down here soon—you all have Winchester-sized abandonment issues—and they'll want to rescue yourself and the Handless Wonder, but you're not going to let them. Just remember, I'm the one with the control here and you have no magic." He pushes me backwards and to the side, making me stumble and trip over a pathetic windmill as he strolls out the door again.

"This place blows."

I was hip deep in boxes and cluttered junk when the bell over the door jingles again, barely heard over the radio. Figuring it was just Hades again, I continue swaying slightly, tossing a beat-up, old lamp over my shoulder into the trash pile; it was steadily growing into a mountain while the keeping pile was a tiny thing that might have reached her knees. "Your love lifts me out of time and you know my heart by heart," the person singing almost butchered the words, but it was familiar and made butterflies flutter in my stomach.

"Pan," I breathe, turning to find my husband right behind me with an infuriating half-smile on his lips. Now, most wives would probably hug their husbands because he'd come to save her from the Underworld, but I just punch his shoulder as hard I can, scowling at him. "What the hell were you thinking? I swear to God, if you killed yourself to get here, I'll throw you in the damn harbor!"

"Jesus, woman, I'm your savior!" I pinch his ear between my fingers and drag him with me to the front of the shop, intending to bring him to my mother so she could slap him silly, but there was another person in the shop as well. Even with his back to me, I knew who he was simply by the feel of his magic and the way his hand hovered over the spinning wheel.

"Hello, little bird," Papa greets with a sad smile as he turns to face us, his brown-eyed gaze focused on my as my hand drops to my side. I wanted to scream at both of them for being here when they weren't supposed to be, I wanted to hit them as I hard as I could, but I found myself unable to anything except stare at them, throat dry. Papa moves gracefully around the objects until he was able to pull me into a comforting hug, his warmth comforting and the scent of his cologne soothing my nerves.

"Papa," I whisper, grasping the back of his jacket tightly.

"I'm here, sweetheart, Papa's here." My emotions were still going haywire, but my papa never failed to keep me from floating away, he kept me grounded and usually meant safety. He'd never intentionally hurt me; he wouldn't let Hades destroy me. But how was he even here? I take half a step back to study him, not finding the weird dull light in his eyes that the dead have, the devious spark still burning like it was in Pan's green eyes. Without warning, I slap the back of his head, beginning my tirade all over again.

"Y'all best start explaining why you're here before I take a cane to both of your asses!"