No amount of deadpan civilians, squeaky floorboards, dark figures out of the corners of his eye, or weird noises were going to sway Jefferson from the only thing he cared about. He needed to place himself on the task of getting home or sit in the miserable depression that would undoubtedly come if he couldn't get there. The frustration he felt from having but moments with his daughter, finally, only to wake up here was like that of throwing a cracker in a starving lion's cage.
Emma Swan being here changed things. Once again, she'd be his chance. Now that it seemed as if she believed, however minimally, it increased their chances greatly. How he woke up with items he'd never even had when he'd gone to sleep with were somewhat alarming, but, nothing about this place was sane. He had his hat and that's all that mattered.
He stood at the edge of the street corner in front of the town hall, running his thumbs delicately over the brim of his beaten and battered hat. Carefully his eyes scanned the edges, recalling the scars he'd given it over the years, and those it'd taken from being squished that he would have to fix. His fingers tingled with a slight anxiety. Having the hat had always been some form of comfort for him, but up until more recently, a burden. Hopefully now it would be more dependable as it always had in his earlier life.
Hearing the quick shuffling of feet that sounded less lifeless than the townspeople he'd passed, Jefferson looked up to find Emma, gun poised, eyes skeptical with concern. He shook his head slowly, waggling the hat back and forth as she caught up to him. "Look at that, you made it alive. Wanna put that away now so we can actually get into a shop without being thrown out?"