Title: What Babe?

Author: Veritas Found

Rating: T / PG-13 / Teen

Characters/Pairings: Sarah Williams

Summary: The crib was empty. They told her it was an accident. She knew it was her fault.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes/Warnings: Darkfic (to a degree). Unbeta'd, as it's more just a freelancey experiment and not something I'm considering 'official'. About two years post-movie, making Sarah seventeen. Character death and psychosis; proceed with caution. An experiment that I have absolutely no excuse for; those who know me know my obsession with mindfuckery. Nothing more than that. Promise you'll keep the pickaxes away 'til the end?

What Babe?

Prologue: The Crib was Empty

The crib was empty.

Though she could take so much from that room, that one fact remained obvious above all else – like thick molasses, coating her tongue and choking her with its presence. The lights flickered occasionally with the storm, but the room was light enough; the night was stormy, and the crib…

"My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as –" the words don't leave her lips, catching and dying in her throat as he holds up a hand.

"Stop!" he hisses, and she's confused enough that she does. It's her moment; she's beaten him, and now comes the speech where she tells him so. Why would he stop her? This is how the story goes. This is how it's done.

His smile is sinister.

"You will is as strong, oh, yes, precious thing," he says, voice silky and sweet like too much melted chocolate. "But you're forgetting one crucial point. The game changer."

She watches him, afraid to ask what but afraid to back down all the same. The clock appears behind him, and the fear recoils into a lead weight that drops with a sickening plop into the pit of her stomach.

Thirteen-oh-one.

"You're too late, Sarah," he coos, his voice right beside her ear and triggering shivers down her spine. "And now your precious brother is mine. Forever."

The crib was empty.

The storm still raged outside; she could still feel his cruel eyes on her. The eyes that had watched her snivel and beg after she had so callously wished her brother away; the eyes that had mocked her as the clock told the horrible truth of the matter.

One minute.

One minute had destroyed her world.

And now the crib was…

"But…no! That's not fair!" she cries, eyes widening in panic and terror as she takes in the time. She looks back to the Goblin King, his smile sadistic and mocking. "I made it to the castle in time – I found you and Toby in time! I was here! I made it!"

"Are you so certain, precious thing?" he asks, circling her like a great jungle cat. And she's the little gazelle, the weakest of her herd just waiting to be devoured. He's won. He's…

"I won, Goblin King. I beat you. Give me back my brother!" she demands, and he stops before her, reaching out to lay gloved fingers against her cheeks.

"You are late, precious Sarah, and now little Toby is mine. What's done is done," he says, dipping his head closer to her own. "You. Have. Lost."

"No! I was here!" she cries, her eyes widening as his head draws closer. "This…this isn't right! This isn't how it goes – I beat you! I won! I…I…"

"Mine," he whispers, breath slithering over her face and carrying those cruel words with it. "You were too late, precious thing, and now he's mine. Forever."

She was too late, too slow. She couldn't save him. She couldn't…and then they had come home to find her standing over the empty crib, shaking and crying and…

They hadn't blamed her. "It was an accident," they had said. They had hurt, they were still hurt, but they had never once blamed her.

Jareth hadn't even…

"And that's it? I just lose? I forget everything?" she asks, her voice dead, and his chuckle is like acid.

"Oh, no – where would the fun in that be? No, Sarah, you've won the right to keep your memories. You ran my Labyrinth, and you have defeated it – the very first," he says, but somehow it doesn't seem like a victory. "You should get something for the effort. Your memories seem like a…fair consolation prize, don't you think?"

But they weren't what she'd wanted.

She wanted Toby.

She wanted to know he was safe and well, back in the crib – empty – or Irene's arms or…she didn't want this.

His gaze felt like a snake, writhing against her as it crawled over her body. She could still feel it, as if he were still watching her, as if…

"Unless you wish to forget?" he purrs, and her throat closes. "You just have to say the right words, Sarah. One tiny little wish…"

"No," she chokes. Never again. She will never make another wish, not even in passing or jest. She won't.

"Perhaps a trade, then? Toby for…you?" his face is so close his lips brush her skin with every word. She feels disgusted. She hesitates, just long enough, and he sighs. The breath burns against her. "No, I thought not. Such a pity."

He's backing away then, and her body is shaking. Fear of him and her parents' reaction. Revulsion of herself and him. Loathing. Such strong, strong loathing.

"Go home, Sarah," he says. He sounds defeated somehow. "Go home, and live your happy little life with your happy little family. Go home."

"We're home," the call came from downstairs, so far off. She shouldn't be in the room. No one came into the room anymore, not since…she shouldn't be there, but she was too afraid to run. Too…too…she didn't know what.

"Sarah…" the voice was low, pleading, and so full of sorrow that it physically hurt to hear – but she did hear, and fear gripped her with it. She turned, slowly, her eyes widening as they landed on the vanity mirror behind her.

The Goblin King.

And yet…he was not as she remembered. Gone were the cruel eyes, the haughty smirk; he looked…sad. Achingly so. His hair even seemed to droop with it; his clothes were simple instead of the gaudy finery he usually preferred. And his eyes, those terrible mismatched eyes…their edges crinkled with his frown, glistened with what almost looked like unshed tears, called out to her in a way that terrified her.

He had won, hadn't he? So why did he look like it was killing him? Why wasn't he holding Toby, waving a little arm to mock her with…

"…you have no power over me," she says, her eyes wide in revelation and remembrance. The one phrase is enough to turn his world, shatter it, and he looks as if she's just grabbed his heart bare-fisted and ripped it from his chest. The cape is falling, he is falling, and the world is flipped upside-down or rightside-up and she…she…

She's won. Toby is safe. Toby is upstairs, in his crib – she can see him. And the owl is gone, the Goblin King defeated, and she's…

She screamed, pain and confusion twisting her mind as she lashes out at the mirror. The Goblin King didn't even have the decency to look startled; he simply watched her with those aching, ancient eyes, the look on his face making her think he wanted nothing more than to hold her. Comfort her.

But for what?

The voices below were suddenly hushed before they picked up again in frantic whispers. She barely heard the pounding of feet on the steps amid the tinkling, clinking glass – shards falling to the floor, cutting into her hands and knees, reflecting those horribly sympathetic eyes that cut her worse than the glass ever could. She was barely aware of the door crashing open, of the screams, of the arms that scooped her up, or the chest she curled against in an attempt to escape those eyes.

She refused to look at the crib.

The crib, after all, was empty.