Fan Fiction ❯ Broken Wings: A Labyrinth Fic ❯ Broken Wings 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Broken Wings

Disclaimer: I don't own Labyrinth. No idea who does. Not me. I make no money off of this.

Warnings: Graphic violence

Part 1

Sarah brushed her hair from her face, quickly gathering it all in her hands and tying it back before the wind could whip it up again. Ever since she had moved out into her own small home, she'd let her hair grow out almost down to her waist, and while she loved the extra length, it could get in the way of her gardening.

She took her sunglasses off as she sad down on the grass, setting them next to herself. The sun was already slipping behind the horizon, covering the rose bushes in shadow. The large blossoms were starting to close up, but that made it easier to reach the thin vines that were sneaking into the bushes, strangling them.

"Ow!" she jerked her hand back, wincing at the cut in her finger. "Damn thorns." She shook her hand for a moment, then started pulling the weeds again. Deeper through the leaves she could spot the roots of one of the longer vines, so she delved further in, gingerly extending her entire arm amongst the thorns. Her fingers touched the cool dirt, and she started to feel her way to the weeds. Halfway there, she brushed against something soft and warm. Feathers.

A bird? Do I pull it out? she wondered. If I grab it, it might peck me, but if it's dead..."All right, whatever you are, time to come out!" Being as gentle as she could, she pushed her hand up underneath it and slowly raised it up out of the thorns. Finally she could see what she had rescued: a snowy white owl, with splashes of blood on its perfect feathers.

"Oh, you poor thing," she whispered, softly gathering the owl up into her arms. "You must have got caught in the thorns." The small bird was obviously in no shape to fly, so she got up and took it inside, laying it on the couch. She could barely see it's body rise and fall with each breath.

"Now you just wait here," she said, "and I'll get a box for you to sleep in." Sarah hurried to the garage and grabbed a large cardboard box and several rags, then started back.

When she reached the living room again, though, she froze. The box dropped to the floor.

The owl was gone, and in its place lay a very familiar man. The clothing was less elaborate than she would have expected, but it was him.

"Jareth," she whispered inaudibly. Her first thought was to dash to the kitchen and get a knife, a pan, anything to defend herself. She couldn't make her legs move.

Seconds ticked by, and as her adrenaline surge died down, Sarah realized that Jareth wasn't doing anything but laying there. In fact, it looked like he was asleep. She crept closer, avoiding the creaky spots in her floor, until she was standing right over him.

The feathers had disappeared, but the blood was still there, only now she could see that the scratches and cuts were still bleeding. They were all over his body, most of them fairly minor, but the worst ones were around his eyes. It almost looked as if someone had tried to claw his eyes out.

Sarah put her hand out, hovering it over the marks. They fit her fingers exactly. Someone with very sharp nails had done this to him.

Jareth turned in his sleep, groaning slightly with the effort, and as he did her fingertips lightly brushed his forehead. She winced in sympathy, he was burning up with what felt like a terrible fever.

Sarah felt torn. Her brother, Toby, would be a goblin now if Jareth had succeeded against her so long ago.

So long ago? Geez, Sarah, it was only a couple years back, just before you graduated school.

She sighed and glanced back down at him again. Should she? On one hand he'd tried to take Toby away, but then he was completely helpless now. He'd tried to hurt her and he'd threatened her friends...but then he'd given Toby back when she'd won. No cheap parting shot, no vindictive twist, he'd even left the doorway between the worlds open so her friends could visit. He hadn't been evil or vindictive. He'd...he'd even seemed sad.

No other choice, she went to her bathroom and soaked a washcloth in cold water, then came back and pressed it against his forehead. Jareth groaned again, but he didn't wake up. Sarah pulled the afghan off her other sofa and spread it over him, making sure he'd be warm. By now the bleeding had stopped, so she just dabbed away the excess blood to make sure the wounds were clean.

"Wh...where...am I?"

The faint whisper startled her, and she glanced down at his face. His eyes fluttered a bit, and he struggled to get his left arm back to raise himself. Before she could stop herself, she put her hand on his chest and pushed him firmly back down.

"You're safe," she said first, trying to calm him down. "You're in my home."

"What..." his eyes focused on her, and it took a moment for him to recognize her. "Sarah? How...this..." he turned his face away from the ceiling light, apparently too bright for him.

She left the cloth on his forehead, rising up to turn off the lights, and he sighed in relief. His eyes closed before he could ask her anything, and he was again fast asleep. Sarah looked around the living room, hoping to find someone kind of helpful message written on the walls telling her what to do, but of course all she saw was her faded white paint. It was simply amazing how life could change within five minutes.

Sarah stared out the window for a moment, and her eyes widened as she remembered how late it was. Supernatural former enemy or no, this was not a neighborhood to leave one's door unlocked at night. She rushed back outside and snatched up her discarded sunglasses, then came back inside and bolted the door shut. The kitchen door was locked, and every window was closed and the curtains drawn. As she was coming back to the living room, the phone rang. She picked it up before it rang again, so it wouldn't disturb Jareth.

"Hello?"

"Huh huh huh huh...what're you wearing?"

"Oh, for the love of--not tonight, you sick pervert! One night, just one freakin' night, leave me alone! Can you manage that, hmm? Can your pathetic, twisted little mind grasp this concept? One night? Just go away into your diseased world and leave me--hello?" With a shrug she hung up. The last time she'd done that, he hadn't called for a month. It was kind of an ego boost, being able to frighten him off like that.

"Some...things...n-never change...it seems," came the low chuckle from the couch.

She looked down the hallway at him. Jareth was up on one arm, watching her with a wry smile. He'd slid the afghan back so it was partially behind him. Now that he was halfway up, she could see his clothing even more distinctly. His shirt was awfully simple compared to what she remembered him wearing before. It was nowhere near the ornate designs he usually dressed in. The entire thing was loose and the sleeves ended well-over his hands while the shirt hung an inch above his hips, and it was an off-white color with several small tears and blood stains on it. His pants were a little more in character, black and skin-tight, but they were also torn and blood-spattered. He was wearing boots, but they were obviously dusty and worn from use. And his hair! Years ago, it had been perfectly brushed and styled, but now it was matted in some areas, tangled in others, as if he had been living out in the open for several days.

"Do I look that terrible?" he whispered, glancing away.

"Like you've been running from something for a long time," she admitted, walking back over to him. "What happened to you?"

Jareth gave a short, bitter laugh. "Just a little sibling rivalry," he growled under his breath. "Nothing you should get mixed in." He forced himself to sit up further, but Sarah noticed the wince he tried to hide. She also noticed he was favoring his right arm. Without hesitating, she grabbed his left wrist and yanked it out from under him, and robbed of his only support, he started to fall backwards. He shut his eyes, expecting the jarring pain of knocking his head against the couch arm, but Sarah had put her other arm out to catch him, and she gently lowered him back onto the couch.

"You shouldn't get up yet," she said sternly. "You've got a fever, and what's wrong with your arm?" She reached over and softly set her hand on it.

Jareth couldn't hold in his cry of pain, and he pressed himself against the back of the couch, trying to shield his arm from her. "It's broken, damn it, are you happy now?"

Not answering, she put a pillow under his head and pulled the afghan back over him, then started to dab at his face with the cold cloth again.

"Look, Sarah, I appreciate your concern, but I am not an invalid to be nursed back to health!" he said too loudly.

"You appreciate my concern?" she raised one eyebrow at that. "Whatever happened to you must have been drastic, you'd have never lowered yourself low enough to actually thank someone before."

He didn't reply.

"Well, whatever happened, you shouldn't try to leave tonight. It's dark, and you wouldn't stand much of a chance out here in your condition." Not waiting to hear his response, she got up and went to the living room door, which she partially closed. "Um, your goblins aren't gonna pop in here suddenly, are they?"

He shook his head slightly. "Don't worry, no chance of that happening."

There was a catch in his voice, but he was too close to sleep again to ask him anything. She left the door half-closed and left the hall light on as she went into her bedroom.

I can take a shower tomorrow morning, she told herself, when he's still asleep. She changed into her night shirt and shorts and climbed into the bed, but she didn't fall asleep for a long time. Every few minutes she would glance her alarm clock, watching the red numbers tick by. Half an hour later and no closer to sleep, she got up and tip-toed to the door, looking in on her guest.

Jareth was still on the couch, already fast asleep, his left arm dangling from under the afghan and his right arm perched delicately on his stomach. Once in awhile his head would turn to the side, or he would mumble something. She caught the words "castle, riddle and heart" over and over, but the rest was incoherent. It seemed like he has trapped in a nightmare, and his distress was becoming worse as time went on. Against her better judgment, she snuck back into the living room, pulled the footstool next to the couch and sat down.

Once she was comfortable, she slipped her hand into his, gently covering it with her other hand. Almost immediately his body relaxed, and his breathing slowed back down to a normal pace.

Jareth, what on earth did this to you? she wondered. What was so damn strong you had to run? An unwelcome thought entered her head. What was happening to her friends right now? They were back with something the Goblin King himself had fled from. She nodded to herself. Whatever it took, she was going to get the answer out of him the next day.