Author's Note: THIS IS IT! Yes, I know it won't be as good as the ones before this, but we ain't even done yet! But this is the last chapter in this part of the fic and if you give me a week or so, I'll have the sequel begun and hopefully the first chapter for that ready to post. That is, if there's interest?

Author's Note 2: Thank you, once more, to all my beautiful sweetly gorgeous reviewers who've been so encouraging and I'll try to email you all personally as soon as I can.

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Both father and mother were relieved to see their son's unacceptable saviour return a short while later, a small, gnarled, twisted little man with him.

Arienne nodded to them both and hurried to Toby's side, nodding with approval at the way the blood had been cleaned away and the almost lifeless body kept warm. "How long?" he rasped out.

"Twenty minutes to my knowledge," Jareth answered decisively, "Can you save him?"

Arienne shrugged and shooed Karen out of his way. He dropped his bag down next to him and pressed down lightly on the fluttering pulse at the boy's wrist. "His pulse is thready, and he has lost far too much blood. But thank the Gods he left the knife in!"

"Thank God?" Karen echoed.

"The knife stops the thing from bleeding too much," Harold said quietly, dropping a quiet hand on his wife's shoulder, "Sweetheart, why don't you wait outside?"

"No," she said decisively, "I've got to watch it. I must. He's my baby."

Jareth winced and turned considerately away. For one, because he did not like intruding on such a private scene, and for another, because he could not bother with such sentimental tripe while his bond mate was dying. He discussed options quickly in an undertone with Arienne and nodded.

"It can be done," he finally allowed, "But I'm not sure how the Spirit will react."

"Jareth, the Spirit will do anything you ask," Arienne said tersely, fiddling inside his bag for the bandages, "Get on with it. But first... the knife."

"As you wish."

Sarah watched from the doorway, wishing that Ben hadn't already left for work as she didn't think she would ever need his support more than at this moment. She nibbled on her nail, worried because she did not understand what was going on but not daring to ask for information in case she distracted someone at a vital point. At least Jareth seemed fitter, she owned, less shaky and much more confident in himself.

The Goblin King summoned a crystal and Arienne readied a thick wad of bandages. "Alright, my boy- now!"

The crystal expanded around the knife, blooming around to cover not just the insulting hilt and exposed blade but also the whole of the blade even within the wound. Jareth shut his eyes to better sense the direction. His healer encouraged and directed him, helping him steel the flow to only the exact amount needed. For even a grain more magic or force and the knife might shift within the injury and do worse damage.

Karen clutched at her husband's hand and felt the fingers tighten on her shoulder. Sarah prayed to every God that had ever been in existence that her brother would be saved.

"Hurry, Jareth," Arienne said quietly.

Jareth gave no outward sign of having heard it but completed the task a moment later and nodded. "I will reverse this segment of time," he reminded quietly, "But I cannot undo the harm it has done. Are you sure, Arienne?"

"Tis the only way, Jareth," the half-goblin answered regretfully, "I fear... but we may still make it and you must do this."

"On my count," Jareth sighed, "One... two... three!"

A blinding flash within the crystal and then the knife went spinning through the air, repulsed by the flesh and banished from the body. Harold ducked just before it hit him. Blood welled in a red tide, seeping over the concave stomach and dying the sheets beneath it a dark crimson.

Sarah turned green and left the room.

Arienne pressed the wad of linen down on the agitated injury, pressing hard to stop the bleeding as best he could. Jareth snatched up another prepared wad and with barely a breath to steady himself had pushed it down on top of Arienne's.

"I'll keep the pressure," the healer grunted, "Get the Spirit."

Jareth nodded, paused to touch a bloodstained finger to a bloodless lip and strode to the room. Impatiently he waved Karen and Harold out of his way and sat down. This time he did not call on nature to aid him or rely on the energies already in existence. The way he used was shorter, sharper and very much more dangerous to someone less skilled. But Jareth was skilled and the Goblin King had never had so much as stake before.

With a resounding creak and crack as if stone was breaking, the wild creature from his Kingdom stood before him.

Karen and Harold gasped and clutched each other, taking in the thick mane of curls that hung down to a thin waist and the delicacy of the large pointed ears. The fingers were long and thin... indeed everything about this 'Spirit' was thin! And then it turned to look at them and they saw a now familiar pair of mismatched eyes.

"Why am I summoned, Goblin King?" the thing demanded.

Jareth leaped to his feet and gestured the Spirit of the Labyrinth to the bed on which Arienne was still fighting for Toby's life. "Toby," he said simply, "Spirit, he is dying."

The spirit looked down sadly and put out a cool hand, brushing the hair back from the greyish brow. "What am I to do?" it sighed, "I am only the personification of a magickal energy. How can I help?"

"Give me more power," Jareth asked, "I can try to heal him by anchoring his soul to his body but I require far more power than I have. Even in the Underground I would not have enough! But lend me the power and I may save him."

"It is hopeless," the spirit protested. "You ask too much."

"I ask for your help, as have my ancestors. Would you deny me now?"

"I would deny using unnecessary energy for what will not work."

"Spirit, if I do not save him, I will regret it forever. Do you understand me?"

A slow smile spread over the thin lips, curving them into the most delighted expression.

"Now may I have the power?"

"Hold out your hand, my Goblin King. I have a present."

Jareth held out his hand, but when he saw the ugly looking piece of raw diamond that the Spirit made to give him, he sighed in frustration. The fingers stopped and dual-coloured eyes looked a cold enquiry at him.

"Do you mean to refuse my present, Goblin King?"

"No, no," Jareth snapped, "Just hurry the damned thing up! He'll be dead before we begin at this rate!"

The stone was laid in his palm and Jareth felt an almost overpowering insurgence of emotion. The present was sweetly warm, yet with the cold undertones of something that had not been touched for a long time. The Spirit of the Labyrinth tightened his fingers around it, warning him implicitly not to drop it or let go of it. "For," it said tellingly, "You now hold your bond mate's soul in your hands."

Time stopped. Jareth stared down at the raw diamond, seeing the sunlight begin to flick dimly off certain of its facets. Karen and Harold drew near and Arienne spared a glance behind him for this most precious of things. Then he remembered his job and speedily went back to it.

Jareth cradled it gently in his palm and covered it in his other hand. The Spirit pushed the chair from a nearby desk to the bedside. "Sit," it said sympathetically, "It will be a long journey for your mortal and though he cannot now leave, his body might still die, leaving him trapped between the worlds. I wish for your sake that there was more that I could do."

"You have done more than I asked," Jareth said softly, "Thank you."

The Spirit offered one more wildly beautiful smile and then disappeared, leaving the room in silence. Arienne's quiet voice broke the stillness, asking Harold to take a particular potion from his bag and stand at the ready.

"When I remove my hands," he said quietly, "I want you to pour as much of that bottle over the injury as you can. Understood?"

"Sure," Harold said thickly, "What does it do?"

"It will help the flesh begin to heal itself. All right... now!"

The wads were removed and half the bottle made it onto the wound before Arienne clapped his hands back down, stifling the sluggish welling of blood.

"When do we stitch it?" Karen asked.

"Soon. Once the potion takes effect."

For two days they stayed, occasionally leaving the room to eat or drink or get some sleep. Arienne had stitched the wound fairly soon after the first dose of the potion, pleased because the bleeding had slowed and finally stopped. But only time and careful care could determine whether Toby's drained body would continue to cling to life. The greyish pallor had not left and the bloodlessness was not lessening. But Arienne announced that his pulse was stronger and that there was warmth in his body that had not been there before. Arienne had not announced the actual catalogue of the boy's injuries. And Arienne had had a long, stern conversation with the Goblin King about certain secrets that he shared with the boy.

"He was brutally abused, Jareth, and you tell me this isn't the first time," the goblin has hissed, tending to the hurts with quick, light hands.

Jareth had paled but held his composure as he watched his healer at work. "He has never been raped so badly before."

"Rape is rape, Jareth. I thought you would understand that by now. Look at him! And you allowed him to hide it as if it was something to be ashamed of?"

Jareth hadn't replied. It hadn't been his decision to make, he reasoned with him, to force Toby to go to Arienne in the first place. He had only done what was necessary to make sure that Toby still got the care and attention that he needed. He hadn't allowed Toby to think it was shameful. He couldn't possibly do a thing like that when he didn't even believe in it.

Unless Toby had misunderstood, in the darkness of his own mind.

So for those two days and nights, Jareth stayed exactly where he was, moving only to walk slowly around the room, gazing intently at the things from a childhood he had never been there to witness- posters, books, games... various paraphernalia of a life before he had entered it. And his fingers remained locked around the precious gem in his left fist, holding on with a grim determination. Trying to understand his bond mate.

On the afternoon of the third day, Jareth woke up with a start.

Something was wrong... again! How many things had gone wrong? Why now? But there was definitely something wrong for the raw diamond in his hand was beginning to burn his palm, shifting and singeing as if trying to be free. He clenched his fingers tighter, terrified by what this might mean. Fearful eyes looked to the body lying still and unconscious on the bed, seemingly unknowing of the inner struggle of its person in the outer world. Jareth wondered wildly what was to happen now. Was this death, then? Why the bloody hell was nobody left in the room but himself? What was he supposed to do- let go?

"No," he growled, shaking his head as if Toby could actually hear and see him, "You are not leaving. Not now!"

The gem made to struggle harder and the smell of burning flesh began to seep into the room.

"No! I won't let you go, Toby. I can't..."

"Jareth? What's going on? What's happening?"

Sarah! Sarah would help him, wouldn't she? In his own desperation he felt like he was losing his mind but pushed that thought away. There would be time enough to recover his loss of dignity when Toby was awake again. "Toby's soul is trying to escape."

"Why?" Sarah walked hurriedly to Jareth. She touched the wrist of the hand straining to keep its prize and felt the steel bite out at her. Such a strain meant that the soul was really exerting an effort. "Jareth, you've got to let go!"

"Are you mad? After all of this, to just let him die?"

"We don't know that..."

"I will not let him die!"

"Jareth, what you want and what he needs are two different things! You can't force him to be where he does not belong."

"He belongs with me!"

The stone suddenly blazed so hard that he groaned in pain, cradling the limb close to his chest as he absorbed it. Pain was not something he enjoyed, but he knew how to bear it and so he did, forcing his nerves to open to it, inviting it in so that it did not hurt even more when it finally conquered.

"Jareth, do you love him?" Sarah's green eyes were so worried, looking into his with a level of sympathy that even a few hours ago would have been scorned and thrown back in her face. But then there was Ben, and Jareth might only have met him two days ago, but only the blind would not be able to tell that Sarah and Ben were as in love as he seemed to be.

By all that was pure, he was in love!

The shock made the half-goblin stare down at his hand, made him relax his fingers. When the devil had he fallen in love? Was this even love? But if Toby were to die he felt he would go mad! He fervently thought of guilt, or responsibility and neither of them seemed to explain why he felt such affinity for a mortal.

Sarah's hand tightened on his wrist and shook slightly. "Jareth, this is not the time for a major epiphany," she growled, "Let go of him."

"I can't," the Goblin King murmured, still transfixed by his thoughts, "What will be left if he goes?" Silence settled into the room and even the dimness of the sick room was stifling as emotions began to overflow. "I can't let him go. Not like this."

He looked down again to his hand and slowly watched Sarah uncurl her fingers from his wrist. The jean-clad legs took a generous step back and an arm covered by the sleeve of an over-large sweater signalled him to make his decisions. "You can't keep him only because you think he should stay."

"If he lives," Jareth said slowly, "I'll take him back. I'm selfish and I can't give him up after all this. But what if he dies? What will I have left?"

"I don't care," Sarah said brutally, "It's not my business. But if he dies, then he does. It's the way of the world here, Goblin King. We die! We're mortal and that's what we do! But you have to risk this. For Toby. If you really care a hang about him."

Jareth nodded. And opened his fingers.

The stone dissolved before his eyes even focused on it, leaving nothing but badly burnt flesh behind as a remembrance that it had ever existed. The Goblin King stared blankly at his hand and then looked to the bed.

Nothing had changed, it seemed. Toby still lay on his back with his eyes closed and his skin chalky.

Sarah rolled up her sleeves and pulled a chair up next to him. "Dad and Karen are asleep," she murmured, "You won't mind if I sit here?"

"I won't even attempt to change your mind," he replied numbly, not even looking to her. Why did death have to hurt? Why the hell had nothing in his unnaturally long life ever been simple? He hated the sight of death, the way it always stroked grey, unforgiving pallor into warm skin. He had thought he would be able to bear it after all this time, but it felt even worse than before. All he had ever asked for was a normal life and just look at the trouble he was always embroiled in! How was he to deal with all this? How could he reconcile the lover he knew in his dreams with this anguished reality? How could he even think of that still body as his lover? This child? This sixteen-year-old boy would be reason enough for all sensible people to despise him, for what he had done. Or failed to do, at any rate.

"Jareth, what happened yesterday when Arienne was examining him? He seemed very upset by something when he came out. You were here; what was it?"

Sunlight flickered as a cloud chased across the sky. Jareth still didn't even give evidence of having heard anything. Until he sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "It's a long story," he muttered, "And one that it is not my business to tell you."

So he told her- every last brutal thing that had ever occurred in the Underground and had then followed to the Aboveground as well. Sarah went white and clapped her hand to her mouth, unable to believe that such a thing was possible. But it was, and Jareth assured her it was all true. He gently turned the still figure on the bed on its side and showed her the lacerations with a firm hand even though she looked away and would not see where he indicated.

"I didn't know," she protested, sensing an accusation against herself and not sure which of them it came from. "He- he didn't even tell me!"

Jareth snorted and sat back down beside her. "My elf would scorn to show a weakness," he said plainly, "It would take a broken day for him to admit to it. Are you actually surprised that he did not tell you of his private shame?"

"But there is no shame!"

Knowing eyes pinned the woman to her seat. "Indeed? When a child has grown thinking homosexuality to be wrong and perverted, think you he will not be shamed beyond reasoning to be raped? I only wonder why he did not seek to kill himself instantly. He might have; there are means enough in the Underground too."

"There was no reason for him to kill himself in the Underground," Sarah reasoned slowly, trying to sort it out in her head by thinking out loud, "You would have stopped him. Right?"

"Well, yes! But..."

"No buts! You want to know what made Toby suicidal? You did! Maybe he did grow up thinking homosexuality was wrong, but you made him hate himself because you showed him that everything he'd ever thought was wrong wasn't. And he might have handled even that if you hadn't thrown him away like so much garbage."

"I did not!"

"Did too!"

"Never!"

Eyelashes so blond that they were near to invisible began to flutter and when blue eyes slitted open, it was to look up in a bemused and befuddled way at a ceiling that seemed so familiar that it was strange. There were voices... voices that were far away but arguing. He knew an argument when he heard it and he was so tired. He wanted to tell them to stop but he couldn't; opening his mouth took too much energy.

Toby drifted back to welcome darkness. It was so cold in this world; he wanted to return to where he had been, to that warm deep cavern that smelt of comfort and felt like warm water. Everything hurt here. Everything was too loud and garish. He felt his heart begin to slow. And unconsciousness took him away, drifted back over him once more.

Sarah saw a slight movement from the corner of her eye and stiffened, jerking around and making inelegantly for the bed on which the current topic of contention still lay. There was no change that she could see, but something...

Jareth joined her but his fingers instead reached straight for his bond mate's cheek. "He's warm," he whispered, "There is blood flowing in his veins again! I can almost hear it thrum beneath his skin."

"That sounds disgusting," Sarah answered back, "Are you sure? Don't lie, Jareth."

"My dear, I would not lie about this," he swore, his hand stroking the warming face, so precious in its recent brush with death, "I think it; I'm not sure. Arienne will be back soon and he must check, but I do think it."

"Thank God! I'll go tell Karen and Dad; they'll want to know. Will you stay?"

"I won't leave." It sounded as though Jareth was talking directly to the sleeping child on the bed. "Not now."

The half-goblin perched on the side of the bed, draping a warm body over the small one on the sheets, willing his own strength into it, wishing it would arch up to meet him. Every part of them seemed to fit together, and the mortal youth seemed made for this position alone. He thought with relief of the better chances that Toby would come out of this alive and well. But not whole. And he did ache at the remembrance that his bond mate would only have to wake up to more pain, more indignity. He thought of what he would have to ask Toby to describe for him.

"I swear, my elf, no matter what else happens, you have me with you," he whispered.

From nowhere there was music. There always had been and Jareth had always known this song though he had never ever thought he would sing it to someone else like this. This had been his, the one part of himself and his own manic mood swings that he had kept sacred and secret. Even Archer had never heard this song.

He began to sing softly, feeling a small smile curve his lips as he nuzzled gently against a pale golden neck:

"Time takes a cigarette... puts it in your mouth... you pull on a finger, then another finger... then the cigarette..."

The words seemed so imminently suitable to everything the both of them had. For both were so alone, lost in themselves to the exclusion of everyone else. And nothing else had really mattered. They were perhaps both selfish that way, but Jareth didn't care. Not for nothing was he King. And Toby would have anything for the asking, any comfort, any desire his heart fixed on.

"...you walk past the cafe... but you don't eat 'cause you've lived too long... oh, no, no! you're a rock n' roll suicide..."

Fluttering pulse and fluttering eyelashes. Nothing mattered and everything made sense as the world aligned in a startling swing of perspective. If this was madness then it felt very much like love and that was all right. It was a friend coming home. This, Jareth could understand. For bond mates and lovers were always mad and everything in the Goblin King's life had been hinged on insanity or worse.

"...don't let the sun blast your shadow... don't let the milk float drive your mind... so natural, religiously unkind..."

Toby heard a Dream once more, whispering words softly and sweetly in his ear and he drifted into them.

"Oh no, luv, you're not alone... you're watching yourself but you're too unfair... you've got your head all tangled up... but if I could only make you care..."

Jareth cared. Somewhere in himself Toby knew that, heard the words and felt them infiltrate his dreams where he could see them written in neon across his brain.

"Oh no, luv, you're not alone... no matter what or who you've been..."

And he had been so many things- toy, bitch, slave... the list was endless! And it hurt, searing him to remember the bleak darkness of those hours of the night when he'd been so lost to despair, the knife that had stroked his skin, the way he had been forced!

"No matter when or where you've seen... all the knives seem to lacerate your brain..."

And the final throb of pain when he had been left, discarded and disgraced, so ashamed and heartbroken that he had not even been able to mourn for himself. The knife handed considerately back to him because he wasn't even worth the final end that would possibly bring a little dignity back to him. He had picked it up and finished it himself. And when the knife had entered it had filled him with the most ecstatic of pains and he had been bitterly amused by the irony that it all it took was one penetration to kill him. And how that irony had burned in his throat!

"I've had my share... I'll help you with the pain... you're not alone."

The last was whispered directly to the warm, wide lips that were so still in repose. And Jareth imagined them conscious once more, mobile and smiling, reaching to kiss and speak, swollen and reddened with desire and want...