DISCLAIMER: I don't own Labyrinth or any of the characters associated with the film. They are the property of the Jim Henson Company.

AN: No, I am not done Til Death Do Us Part. No, no, no. So, why start a new one, you ask? Well, because I'm feeling like I'm in a rut with TTDUP, and I need a little angst. So, I give you Labrys.

Labrys is the term for a double headed axe. I think you'll find as the story progresses that the whole situation is double edged. Ooooh, angsty.

The phone rang shrilly in her ear. Sarah groaned, rolling towards it miserably. She growled; these overseas calls were really starting to get to her. Didn't people realize that she was six hours ahead of them? Why couldn't they just let her sleep peacefully?

"Hello," she mumbled into the receiver.

All Sarah could hear were muffled sobs and a sharp fear resonating through the telephone.

"Hello?" she repeated, her voice stronger now, consciousness becoming more prevalent.

"Sarah," the voice said through tears. Sarah recognized it immediately as her stepmother's voice.

"What's wrong?" Sarah asked. Icy fear tightened in her chest and crawled up her throat as she waited in anticipation of inevitably bad news. Was it her father? He'd been having 'episodes' lately. Little by little, his age was catching up with him.

"It's Toby," her stepmother mumbled. "He's missing."

"What?"

Sarah couldn't think of what else to say. Toby had never hinted at being unhappy besides having that uncommon attachment to the fantastic that Sarah had also had at his age. Nothing had ever pointed to him wanting to leave home. His grades were good, his social life was more active than Sarah's had been at that age, and his family life was wonderful. Uncontrollable panic gripped Sarah, making it hardly possible for her to breathe. What if something worse had happened to him? What if he hadn't wanted to go missing? He was still young, still a child technically.

"I found a note, I…," her stepmother trailed off.

Sarah breathed slowly and deeply, closing her eyes, trying to make sense of the whole situation.

"How long? Have you called the police?" Her voice was commanding. Her stepmother always lost it in situations where she needed to keep it. Sarah wouldn't have been surprised if she hadn't even called the police yet.

"Since after school yesterday. And, of course I called the police," her stepmother blubbered into the phone. "Oh, oh, your father. He's so upset."

Sarah sighed.

"Okay, I will catch the next available flight. I can't believe that Toby would do something like this," she spoke clearly into the phone, giving her stepmother the necessary authority she needed in this situation. Sarah didn't know why, but her stepmother had always failed at taking control.

Sarah hung up the phone and allowed the fear to grasp her and pull her into tears. What was Toby thinking? Where was he? Was he alright? My God, he's only fifteen! Sarah willed herself back into a reasonable state and crawled out of bed. It was going to be a long flight, and the sooner she was on a plane, the better. She called the airlines and weaseled her way onto a flight that would leave four hours from now. Sarah needed to hurry.

She tossed a few items of clothing into her carry-on bag and called a cab. Then, she waited. She'd have about nine hours to wait. Nine hours to tear her hair out over Toby. Thirteen hours she'd have to worry. She stopped and her breath caught in her throat. Thirteen hours? Thirteen hours to worry about Toby? She shook her head. No, she couldn't think about that now. The likelihood was slim. Besides, the likelihood that any of it had even happened at all was negligible. She wouldn't know anything until she was back in the States. She wouldn't know anything at all until she was home.

The flight had been tortuous; the plane being wretchedly rocked by turbulence for almost the entire nine hours. Sarah was glad that she had only brought her carry-on with her; she'd saved herself the bother of having to wait for hours for her luggage. The plus of going home was that a lot of her clothes were still there, and ideally she'd still be able to fit into them. She hastily pulled out her cell phone and dialled a number furiously.

"Come on, Kurt," she muttered into the receiver. "Pick up."

"'Allo?" Kurt sounded sleepy on the other line, and Sarah was certain that he'd been out partying the night before.

"Kurt, something has come up and I'm back in the States," Sarah told him quickly.

"Sarah? What happened, love?"

Sarah smiled slightly. There was something about the Brits that she'd met; all of them seemed to call her 'love' upon meeting.

"My brother, Toby, he's…well, he's missing," she said, her voice was pained with the admission.

"What?" Kurt's voice came through loudly. So loudly that Sarah had to pull the phone away from her ear for a moment.

"Exactly," she said. "Look, I don't know any details right now. I just landed."

"Can you just see if you can get the deadline extended or something?" she asked him, her eyes scanning the pick-up area outside of the airport. Where was her father? Ah, there he was. He looked awful: tired and thin.

"Of course, love, of course," Kurt replied. "You take your time and contact me as soon as you have any information, okay? My heart goes out to you and your family."

"Thanks, Kurt."

That was all she had given him as an exit for now she was collapsing into her father's arms in tears.

"What happened?" she asked.

Her father just stared at her shaking his head.

"Maybe you can tell us, Sarah. You know him best."

Sarah nodded silently, restless to return home and work through this. For some reason Sarah felt that if she was in his room, she might find some clues. Whatever it was that they were missing in terms of Toby's reasoning, she might just stumble upon it. Her father remained silent the entire drive home, and as soon as they pulled into the driveway, which was littered with police cars, Sarah had jumped from the car. She'd nearly collided with her stepmother, which was a good thing as she was nearly falling down. Sarah wrapped her arms around her. She knew her stepmother to be a woman of little mental strength, but she hadn't expected her to be this frail. Sarah looked at her parents. She was their rock; she was the light that they looked to in this time of need. She would need to remain strong.

The police were milling about within the house looking for anything that would support foul play. An amber alert had been issued, given the unusualness of Toby's behaviour. He was not a runaway risk child; he was a happy, healthy teenager. Everything that Sarah had gone over in her head was repeated in the police report. They were still conducting interviews, but no one in Toby's acquaintance had noticed any odd behaviour. Sarah was starting to become infuriated with him. Why would he just take off and not tell her? Why? Her anger diffused rapidly into fear. What if someone had taken him? What if he was in danger? She fought back tears desperately.

She took over all discussions with the police regarding Toby. They grilled her within an inch of her life, and then decided to call it quits. They were calling in their search squad for the night, and re-iterating the amber alert on the 11pm news. Sarah sighed and told her parents that they should try to get some sleep. They should all try to get some sleep. When she heard her parents' room door click closed, she slipped into Toby's room and flicked on the light. There was no danger in her snooping around now, the police were done and she was certain that she would be able to find some clues related to his absence that they hadn't.

She looked at the walls. Posters filled every inch of wall space: rock bands, anime, fantasy art. His bed was still dishevelled from when he'd gotten up the day before. Her parents had told her that he had woken up, eaten breakfast and headed for school, like any other day. There was nothing unusual about his behaviour. He'd come home at some point, because her stepmother had found an empty milk glass in the kitchen sink when she'd come home from work. But, hours had passed and they still hadn't heard from him. They had begun to call his friends, but no one had heard from him. It was midnight when they'd finally decided to call the police. He had a curfew and he never missed his curfew. This behaviour was incredibly out of character. Then they'd found the note. It was short and succinct. But, that was Toby. Always getting to the point as soon as possible. Why play games when there was no need? All the note had said was that he'd made a decision. That he was planning on following through with his decision. That they shouldn't look for him, nor should they worry. Stupid boy, of course they would worry. Why hadn't he told her, at least? Why hadn't he?

Tears stung Sarah's eyes once more. Her eyes were raw and sore now, a combination of jet lag and crying too much in a 24 hour period. She swallowed down the lump that was forming in her throat, and shifted through the items and papers on his desk. Nothing out of the ordinary. She sighed, glancing around once more and suddenly she noticed it. Ceramic and old, dusty but distinct. It was sitting on his bookshelf, close to the bottom shelf. It was exactly how she remembered it. Toby must have dug it out of the box in the attic. But, why? She walked over to the offending item and gingerly gripped it in her hands, as though it were a wild animal that could turn on her instead of an inanimate object. She turned it delicately in her fingers. It had many sharp edges and it was caked with dust. Why, Toby, why? Fear grasped onto her once more, but this time the source was different. It was an old fear, a familiar fear, instead of the unknown.

Sarah stared at the ceramic figure in her hand. The painted features and sloppily sculpted hair didn't do the man justice, if he was a man at all. She frowned, and turned her head slowly, looking to see if Toby had taken anything else from the box. She didn't see anything yet. Her eyes scanned each shelf of the bookshelf until they found what they were looking for. Bookends. A gnarled dwarf. A sob rose up into Sarah's throat. This still didn't mean anything. Toby was fond of Sarah and fond of her stories, although she'd never told him the true tale. Maybe he'd been helping her father clean the attic and stumbled across them. Maybe. Unfortunately, she couldn't convince herself that that was the truth of the situation.

She was tired, exhausted really. She sat on Toby's bed, unable to deny that the softness was welcome. She lay down, still clutching the ceramic figure in her hands. She closed her eyes, just for a moment. Just for a moment. She heard the grandfather clock in the front hall ringing at midnight. She'd been awake for almost 24 hours, it was more than time to get some sleep. Her mind was racing, and although her body screamed in exhaustion, she couldn't fall asleep fully. She counted the gongs of the clock. One. Oh, Toby. Two. Where are you? Three. I hope you're safe. Four. Please. Five. Be safe. Six. Oh God. Seven. Please let him be safe. Eight. Toby. Nine. Come home. Ten. Please. Eleven. Please. Twelve. Oh, please. Thirteen. Thirteen?

Sarah sat up on the bed with a start, the ceramic figure tumbling to the floor and a heaviness settling in her stomach. It was the result of a combination of tiredness and fear. She couldn't have heard thirteen rings. It wasn't possible. She was staring at the floor, trying to keep herself from vomiting. With the corner of her eye, she saw it. Dark red, weather-worn, small, and thin – it was a book. It was her book. She didn't need to pick it up. She didn't need to read the words scrawled in gold print across the front cover. She bit her bottom lip. Oh, Toby, what have you done?