A/N: This is just a little two or three shot fic I decided to write after seeing the promo of Killian and Meg in the Underworld. Seeing him refer to himself as Captain Killian Jones got the wheels in my brain turning, and I wondered what might happen if our heroes were mistakenly directed to the wrong Captain Jones at first...

Emma picked at the gingerbread on her plate, crushing bits of it between her thumb and forefinger. They had reconvened in the Underworld's diner after their other attempts to track down Killian had failed; no one they talked to had any useful information on Killian's whereabouts. The owner of said diner was unwilling to accommodate their loitering, however, unless they ordered something from the menu. Mary-Margaret had quickly responded by ordering gingerbread and tea for everyone in their group, muttering afterward about it being better than the alternative. No one was quite brave enough to eat it, however, after Henry reminded them of Persephone's fate when she'd eaten food from the Underworld.

"I still say we should find James," David was saying as Emma finally shoved the plate of gingerbread away from her. "If he knew we were down here within minutes of our arrival, he probably knows why. He might know something useful."

"What, and you think he's just going to volunteer the information?" Regina snorted. "Even if he knows something, what motivation does he have to share it with us? Based on what your wife here just told us, he doesn't even like you."

"Regina's right," Robin cut in. "Your brother has his own agenda down here. They all do. Whatever score he wishes to settle with you is unlikely to tie in to our own agenda."

The rest of their conversation was lost to Emma as the bells on the diner door jangled loudly and an unfamiliar voice shouted her name. She stood up, slipping out of the booth as a brunette woman wild eyes tumbled through the door, gasping for breath. Her clothes were torn and spattered with blood, and her face was streaked with dirt, but it was not her appearance Emma focused on, but her half-incoherent cries for Emma.

"I'm Emma Swan," she told the woman. "Who sent you?"

"Captain," she wheezed, pitching forward in a faint, "Jones."

-/-

"Too much blood loss," Regina observed clinically, as Emma sat on the diner floor, examining the stranger for injuries. She gave up after a few helpless moments. With all of the other injuries she already had, spotting any new bumps or bruises was near impossible.

"We should get her somewhere safe and comfortable," Mary-Margaret agreed, "where we can stabilize her. Find out what she knows."

"That could take hours, days," Emma argued. "We can't wait that long. You saw how Killian looked. He's suffering."

Regina eyed her with an expression that, had it come from anybody else, might have been mistaken for compassionate. "And how do you propose to find him? We don't have any more useful information about him than we did five minutes ago. If you want to find your Captain, our best course is to revive this woman."

"Excuse me," a feminine voice interrupted, "I couldn't help overhearing..."

A willowy woman with glossy black hair and ivy-colored eyes stood nearby, her expression hopeful but uncertain. "Did I hear right? You're looking for Captain Jones?"

"Who the hell are you?" Regina demanded.

"Eurydice," she frowned back. "And I've been all over this Underworld. If you want to find Captain Jones, you'll have to go much deeper. All of this," she said with a sweeping gesture toward the rest of their surroundings, "is just the surface level. It houses those of lesser crimes, or those who've earned Hades' favor. The man you're looking for can be found on the seventh level. Wear armor or heavy clothing. And watch out for the serpents."

"If you know so much, why don't you take us yourself?" Regina countered. "How do we know this isn't a trap arranged by Hades?"

"Mom," Henry hissed with wide eyes. "This is Eurydice."

"Because," she answered with a sad smile, "I'm trapped here until sunset."

"I thought all the souls were trapped here until they completed their unfinished business," Mary-Margaret said with confusion.

"No, some of us are still here at the expense of someone else's unfinished business," she sighed, "doomed to travel every day from the lowest depths of the Underworld to the gateway between life and death...and never stepping beyond its threshold." Her expression became somber. "Good luck on your quest," she said, turning away toward the counter. "And whatever you do, don't look behind you," she called over her shoulder.

-/-

The lower they traveled within the Underworld, the more Emma seemed to sweat. It reminded her of a line she'd heard in a movie once, about hell being just a sauna. The father in it hadn't been off the mark with that one, she reflected. Dabbing at her forehead with a handkerchief borrowed from her mother, she thought of Killian and worried what sort of horrors he might be enduring at this very moment.

She crushed the handkerchief in her hand, angry at herself for thinking of her own comfort when Killian was being tortured. A little heat was the least of anyone's problems.

-/-

Emma was going mad. They'd been in the bowels of this dungeon of horrors for what felt like months. In truth, none of them had any idea how long they had really been down in the Underworld. It hadn't been long enough for them to feel hungry or thirsty. Or perhaps they had, and food simply wasn't necessary down here, the surface-level diner notwithstanding.

"Mom."

Emma looked up, startled from her thoughts by Henry.

"We'll find him."

She smiled wanly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. The question had never been whether or not she'd find him. She knew it in her bones that she would. The question was what kind of state Killian would be in when she found him.

"I know."

-/-

"We're here," her mother whispered. They followed her down the spiraling passage, her bow drawn and arrow nocked as the staircase descended straight into a massive labyrinth of thorns. Emma eyed them as she passed beneath the arch of twisted brambles; the thorns were long and thick, pointed like daggers. A careless stumble or a scratch, and it would soon be over for the unfortunate recipient.

"I will find you, Killian," she promised herself in a whisper as they trekked their way through the maze. "I swear on my life."

Emma only hoped fate wouldn't collect on that vow.

-/-

But of course, it nearly did when the serpents attacked. Though in what universe the hideous, winged women that attacked could ever be called serpents, she didn't know. Likely, it had something to do with the writhing mass of snakes upon their heads.

"Gorgons!" Mary-Margaret gasped as they swooped down from above.

"Get down!" David snapped, reaching for his shield. He held it up in front of his face, gathering his wife to his side. "Don't look them in the eye!"

"Close your eyes!" Emma shouted at Henry. She grabbed her son, shielding him with her body as she crouched to the floor, screwing her eyes shut. She felt something rake across her back, tearing cloth and flesh, and the instinct to open her eyes and retaliate nearly did her in. "It's okay, I'm here," she told Henry, more out of a need to convince herself as she smoothed down his hair. "It's okay."

A sibilant noise slithered its way into her consciousness. Nothing is okay without your lover, a voice argued. You need him. Nothing else matters. Leave the boy. Let us help you find him.

"No," she whimpered.

He is weak. Dead weight, her thoughts hissed at her. They all are. You could get so much farther by yourself. Leave them.

Her arms began to tremble. "I can't."

Of course you can. We can show you. We know the way to your love. Let us show you.

Her muscles slackened, her arms going limp.

We will reunite you. Just open your eyes.

Her eyelids spasmed. She opened her eyes and started to raised her head.

"HEY LADIES," she heard Regina shout, "show this!"

A grotesque, ear-splitting screech that sounded like a cross between squealing tires and a growling cat resonated through the maze. Emma clapped her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut instinctively. The sound dissipated after a few moments, and she gingerly removed her hands, marveling at the still, utter silence that permeated the area after such racket.

"Eyes open and move out," Regina ordered. "Quickly, before they turn back!"

Emma cracked an eye open, peering around cautiously from where she crouched. Two macabre statues towered over her, nearby, and she fell backward with a shout, startled.

"It's okay, mom. They can't hurt you," Henry assured her, helping Emma to her feet. "For now."

"But how..?" She rubbed her forehead, feeling a little disoriented.

Regina held up an silver-plated mirror with a long handle. She placed it in front of her face, reflective side facing out, then peered around it with a wicked grin. "Just a little something I packed for the journey. A queen never leaves home without one."

She just barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Great, saved by vanity, she thought. Who would have thought?

"If it's all the same to you, ladies," Robin said, with an arrow trained on one of the statues, "I believe I'd like be going before the Gorgons over here change back and finish us off."

"He has a point," Mary-Margaret agreed, one her own arrows nocked and ready to shoot.

"So let's go," David said, rounding a wall of the maze, his sword drawn and ready.

Emma followed with a frown, trying to remember her mythology classes in school, but her thoughts felt like they were wrapped in fog. "Wait," she said to no one in particular, "why not just kill them when they're immobile? You know, like in that story with...with..." She struggled, trying to remember the name of the hero who had killed... Shit. She couldn't even remember the name of the one he'd killed.

"Perseus?" Henry supplied with an arch of his brow. He slowed down to walk beside her. "He could only behead Medusa because she was mortal. The other two aren't."

"Which is why we need to put as much ground between them and us as possible," David said. "Hopefully we can lose them before they're aware again."

"Great," she muttered, her steps slowing as she trailed behind the others. Her legs felt heavy, as if she were trudging through a swamp of molasses. "We would get stuck with the immortal...whatever those things are."

"Mom?" Henry asked, his voice sounding strangely distorted and distant. It was almost as if he were...was... Emma paused mid-step, determined to chase down the elusive thought. Somewhere cold and wet? "Mom, are you all right?"

Her vision blurred, and Emma squeezed her eyes shut, feeling nauseous.

Cool, gentle hands grasped her, murmuring unintelligible but soothing words as they probed her for injuries. "Charming!" a voice shouted. "They broke the skin!" There was a scuffle of feet that Emma barely registered, and then she felt the world roll on its side like a ball.

Emma cracked her eyes open and saw everyone peering down at her as she lay stretched out on the ground, her head cradled in her someone's lap. Cool hands pressed to her face, and she shivered, her body spasming. She closed her eyes again. "She's feverish. The venom's advancing fast."

"We need to get the venom out," a female voice said in clipped, business-like tones.

"How do we do that?" a worried, male voice demanded.

"We have to clean the blood of any venom. It won't be easy. Or comfortable."

"Is it safe?" another woman with a gentler voice asked.

"The alternative is considerably less safe," came the harsher voice of the first woman.

"Do it," the male said with conviction.

"Emma?" the gentle woman whispered, stroking her hair, "stay with us." The cool hand laced fingers through Emma's own.

She clung to that simple human presence, the feel of skin on skin, as a tingling warmth spread throughout her body and quickly turned into an unbearable fire beneath her skin. A scream erupted from her throat as the excruciating burn ate her alive from the inside out. She writhed, limbs jerking wildly as she tried in vain to evade the pain.

"Hold her down and gag her," the harsh female voice snapped, "unless you want to draw back the Gorgons."

Several strong hands grasped her at the ankles and wrists, pinning her down, and a bunched up cloth was placed in her mouth. Emma bit down hard on the cloth, her muffled screams a small comforting release for her agony. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, carving wet tracks down her cheeks and dripping on to the expanse of neck close to her ears.

"It's okay," the gentle voice murmured to her, stroking her hair again. "It's okay, baby. Hold on. Hold on for Killian. He needs you. We all need you."

Killian? Emma thought with confusion. Images and impressions formed through dozens of memories flashed through her mind: dark hair, the smell of rum and the sea, leather and an accent... Killian, her soul sighed in happy recognition. Her pirate.

She floated, adrift on the happy memories of him, and her thoughts gradually became clearer. Surer. More certain. Killian Jones. Captain Hook. The love of her life, whom she had literally followed down into hell. He was here and she would get him back.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled up at the tearstained and joyful faces peering back at her. Her parents. Her son. Her friends.

"Hi," she smiled, her voice cracking with emotion. "I'm still here."

-/-

"You have got to be shitting me," Emma muttered, staring up at the enormous snarl of briar and bramble before her. "Thorns within thorns?" She sighed, supposing she should be grateful that they weren't as big and nasty as the ones that formed the maze. Rolling her neck in a slow circle, Emma squared her shoulders. "Death cannot stop true love," she recited to herself as she unsheathed her sword, "All it can do is delay it for a while."

"Isn't that from The Princess Bride?" her mother wanted to know, as Emma began hacking at the briars. "That's so romantic!"

"Romantic?" Regina echoed. "We're literally standing in hell and you want to wax about romantic movies?"

Ignoring the nervous banter of her companions, Emma sliced her way through the tangle. With each piece of bramble her gloved hands removed, her anticipation grew. They would hold each other again before the day-perhaps even the hour (whatever hour it was)-was over. And she would take him home. Home to Storybrooke. To their own house. They would live their happy ending with each other at last.

The sound of ragged, labored breathing greeted her ears as Emma removed the next piece of briar. Elated, she sheathed her sword and pulled a dagger from its sheath at her waist. She began sawing at the briars with a careful slowness. A hand emerged, strong and weathered, bleeding from the scratch of thorns upon skin, after Emma removed more of the tangle. He groaned, and she tried working a little faster, but carefully, oh so carefully. Severing the snarl of thorns in several places, she peeled back a large swath of the bramble and stared in consternation at the man with brown, curling hair before her.

"That bitch lied to us!" Regina raged. "Captain Jones, my ass!"

Emma felt a large, leaden weight settle in her stomach. "You're not Killian," she whispered. A lump formed in her throat. Tears filled her eyes. "You're not Killian," she repeated helplessly, hating that she sounded like a lost little girl. The lost little girl she hadn't been since meeting her family.

The figure stirred, and the crown of brown, curling hair lifted. His face was handsome. Emma could tell that, even for all the scars that lacerated his face, bleeding and oozing with infection. "Killian?" he croaked, as if he hadn't used his voice in such a very long time. "My brother?