This little story intro is the beginning to several prompts I'll be using from the LFFL group's Freaky Friday #4F challenges. The prompt will be numbered at the beginning as each challenge I've chosen is completed and added to the story. Please heed the summary, it's a case in point.

If you think I have no idea what I'm writing about, you're probably right, but take it with a grain of salt and enjoy the ride anyway? *lol*

As always, suggestions and concrit are kindly received if kindly given. You guys scare the heck out of me, but I really do want to know what you think as it progresses.

~*O*~

Disclaimer: All things Labyrinth are not mine.

~*O*~

"Room 137, Miss Williams, in the west wing," the orderly pointed her down the hallway. "Do be careful, he tends to get a bit unruly at times. Refuses his medication, treats the staff with no small amount of disdain. You'd think he was ruling on high most of the time." She shook her head. "Don't see how you think you can get through to him any more than the previous counselors, but I wish you no small amount of luck."

"Thank you—" Sarah looked at the older woman's name tag, "Donna, I'm sure I'll be able to manage."

The orderly, Donna, gave Sarah an appraising stare and pressed something small into her hand. "You just be sure to push that panic button if he tries anything. He's never been overly dangerous, but he's had some episodes. It never hurts to be cautious. I've seen some wild things happen in my years at this facility. You're not wearing any perfume, are you? We once had a patient turn into a full-blown jekyll-and-hyde over the scent of jasmine. That unfortunate incident sent them both to the hospital."

"Uh, I think I can manage. Any idea of his real name?"

Donna rubbed her chin as she thought. "No, just calls himself Rumpelstiltskin. Odd thing about that, too. They say he had no fingerprints or birth records on file anywhere. No one has any idea who he is or where he came from. Rumor has it the intake clerk was pretty shaken the night she completed his admittance, and nothing disturbs that woman. She took a two week sabbatical afterward."

Sarah knew that to be true, she'd seen his case file. The man had appeared out of nowhere in a downtown park, ranting and raving like a lunatic. His appearance and behavior had earned him a few wild-eyed stares, but it wasn't until he started approaching children that the authorities were called. He put up a good fight from what the original police report stated, sent two officers to the emergency room with broken noses and black eyes. Unsure what to do with him, the county had turned him over to the mental health experts for a full psychological evaluation. Apparently, that had landed him in this facility, and the intake clerk had written some peculiar notes in the margins of his initial evaluation. Something about hearing odd noises, like claws scrabbling on the walls and strange chittering noises, even laughter.

"Thank you again for your help," Sarah replied. "I don't think I'll have any issues, but I'll be sure to alert the staff if I have any trouble."

The orderly shrugged. "It's your call, Miss Williams. We'll be on standby, if needed. He's been fairly calm today, but you never know."

~*O*~

Sarah walked down the hallway, her steps measured and steady. This wasn't the first case like this she'd taken on. She found a certain amount of satisfaction in taking on the more interesting cases, the ones that seemed a little more 'out there' and fantastical. These were the cases that hinged on psychotic disorders, but Sarah understood there was a fine line in making that call. It was these types she found fascinating, working her way through the delusional ravings of men, women, even children sometimes, to find the source of their various manias.

Once she could pinpoint the essence of the fears, obsessions, and chaotic tendencies that led to such strange manifestations of behavior, it became a simple matter of working on their level. She didn't try to push them into a 'normal' state of mind, but instead molded her thought processes to their way of thinking. They provided all the clues, and she had only to follow the bread crumbs they wove into their narratives to find what made them tick, that caused what normal people thought of as 'crazy.' In her time at this job, she'd found a few patients that she didn't consider delusional at all, choosing instead to identify them as 'Touched,' and she was in a strangely unique position to recognize it.

And once in a great while, she came across a case similar to this one, and she was certain the name 'Rumplestiltskin' was an earmark for one of these Touched. It was not uncommon for elements of fairytales to be included in their psychosis. Having been nearly trapped in a world she didn't belong, the very basis of which danced at the edges of improbability and a stark lack of belief, she was able to understand that for her world, a facility such as this was little more than another type of oubliette. Once she made that revelation, she was determined to be the candle in the dark that helped other Touched—one's that weren't as lucky as she had been—to find their exits. They just needed to be shown the way.

She stopped in front of the door to room 137 and, taking a breath, rapped lightly on the door before opening it. The first step was to build trust, and that was best done by approaching him alone the first time. He wasn't classified as dangerous, so there was no need to lock him in, but he apparently never left the room, either, except as required for mandatory activities and personal hygiene. The Touched weren't crazy about physical contact or forced socialization.

As she stepped in, her first impression was a dark room, and as her eyes began to adjust to the dim lighting, she was able to make out a blanket covering the single, barred window. The rest of the room appeared neat and orderly, and in the shadows of the corner she could just make out the thin frame of a man, lounging against the wall on the bed. His face turned toward her as she walked in and closed the door behind her. She paused for a moment, trying to decide the best way to address him.

"Mister, err, Rumple? My name is Sarah Williams, I'm here to take over your counseling sessions."

A low chuckle filled the room, the sound as dry as dead leaves skittering across pavement. "Saaar-ah," the man rasped quietly, drawing out her name, "can it be? My little heroine, come to save the villain from the clutches of such inane insanity?"

Sarah's ears perked instantly. The sound of that voice drummed up distant memories from years past. She began to edge closer to the bed for a better look at her new patient. She could see the faint glimmer of his eyes in the pale oval of his face as he watched her draw closer. She stopped about a foot away from the bed, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she stared down at the man with bewildered eyes. Though the room was cloaked in a dim diffusion of grey light, and his hair had been cut short, there was no mistaking the familiar face that stared back at her.

"Goblin King?"

He tilted his head, his lips parting in a deranged grin as the faint look of recognition that presented itself a moment earlier faded from his eyes. "King? King..." he murmured, his voice lilting. "The king is in his counting house, counting down, counting down, coun-ting…"

Her brow furrowing in moderate confusion, she took a small step forward. This was not the man she remembered from her run during her teen years, and as much as she hated what he had done, it pained her to see him like this. She hadn't even been sure that really happened, though she reflected on it every so often. On one particularly frustrating day during her final exams in college, she remembered thinking he should spend some time in her world and see how he liked that for a basis of comparison. She'd rather thought that was a brilliant twist and daydreams of the hardships he'd have to endure to survive kept her sane through that period of her life. But what on earth happened now that placed him in such a circumstance as this? And what forces were in play that would somehow manage to drop his case into her lap all these years later?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to figure this one out, but first, she had to build a rapport with him. Looking at him with a kind of congenial expression, she asked, "What is he counting?"

"Why, the pretty little maids, all in a row, and they dream and they dance, and they dance and they dream…" he sing-songed, trailing off into a tuneless hum. "But they don't know… "

"Know what?"

He looked at her sharply before looking away. "Whatever you wish for, you keep."

Interesting, she thought. "May I sit with you?"

He turned back to look at her, a faint glimmer lurking in the depths of his pale eyes. He leaned toward her slightly, one thin hand reaching out to pat the side of the bed. Sarah gingerly sat down on the edge beside him, jumping when he suddenly raised his hand and snapped his fingers in her face, then wiggled his fingers as if something were running away.

"And along came a spider, and sat down beside her, and scared little Miss Muffett away," he intoned, a sly twitch to his thin lips.

Sarah suppressed the urge to shudder as she felt a flicker of unease skitter down her spine, though she couldn't be sure why. She thought for a moment, searching for clues in his words. "Was Miss Muffet one of the maids?"

He leaned toward her, then whispered loudly, "the prettiest maid, star light, star bright, but the clock struck one, and off she run…" He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, his brow furrowed as he shook his head back and forth. "No, not one…"

Cinderella ran at the stroke of midnight, she thought as she attempted to string together his clues, but she didn't see that fairy tale fitting in. There was something more, something in the way he said it, as if it were a memory. The image of a gilded clock striking midnight in an offset face suddenly reared up in her mind. All the clues fell into place then, and understanding, Sarah looked away from him. "No, not one," she confirmed quietly.

She could feel the sudden razor sharp focus of his gaze on her then, the queer-bright glint of his eyes in the darkened room.

"And the little dog laughed to see such a sport—"

"—and the dish ran away with the spoon," she finished. Reality suddenly came crashing down on her as it all fell into place. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, Jareth. I somehow did this to you, didn't I?"

He tilted his head, the glimmer of recognition returning briefly to his eyes as he stared at her. "The sheep's in the meadow, the cows in the corn…" His fist clenched tightly, and he brought it down on the surface of the bed with a frustrated pound.

Silence stretched between them for a few moments as she studied him. There was a tension in his frame that didn't match the frustration he evinced. She reached one hand out to touch him, but hesitated, her hand hovering over his.

"I don't know—," she started, then paused, switching tactics. "Jareth, how did you end up here?"

"She made a wish—Twinkle, twinkle, little star."

Sarah's blood froze. She'd made a wish once—only once—since that night. An actual wish she'd put her whole heart into, but nothing had come of it. That was so long ago…surely this was not the outcome?

Almost too afraid to hear the answer, she asked, "Then what happened?"

He leaned toward her until they were nearly nose to nose, his eyes seeming to burn almost feverishly as he stared into her own, as if he were waiting for something. Sarah held her ground, never breaking eye contact. She knew she was standing on the threshold of breaking through this strange spell.

"Jareth?" she whispered, a note of uncertainty betraying the calm in her voice as his silence roared in her ears. "Tell me…"

He smiled then, his teeth baring in a predatory grin. She'd never been so close to someone when they shed their madness and became fully cognizant, and with him, it was both unusual and spectacular. The silence that stretched between them began to hum, thrumming against her skull until she could feel sparks of magic bursting in a static crescendo against her skin.

Sarah resisted the urge to swallow, even as her peripheral vision saw him raise a hand to her face. He traced along her cheek with his thumb, then slipped his fingers into her hair, grasping her head. The sparks became perceptible, live things then, bursting against their skin and hair in flashes of gold and silver light, illuminating the darkened space around them until she could clearly see the unusual differentiation of his eyes as they looked back her. She knew without a doubt that the Goblin King staring back at her was again himself.

His hand grasped her head tighter, nearly to the point of pain, his voice once again the strong, mocking timbre she recalled as he replied.

"The world fell down, Sarah."

And then he kissed her.

~*O*~

Random Notes:

Saw Labyrinth in theater today as part of Fathom Events. Seeing the Goblin King on the big screen was amazing! Bonus, it was a full service theater with serving staff and adult drinks. I also got to sit on the balcony level. Definitely a memorable time. :)

If you recognize the title of this story, I heart you. Dark Passion Play happens to also be the title of my favorite Nightwish album, though there is no correlation to this story beyond that. I simply think the words of the title itself fit here as the 'story' progresses. This will be quite a bit different than anything I've attempted before.

Also, I realize it has been quite awhile since I updated After Hours. Will be working on that here soon!

Crystalline Dreams,

~*~ Sheyrina

Chapter posted 4/30/18