A/N: For the sake of this little story, I've placed Sarah at fifteen years old. I think there tends to be debate on occasion about her age when she goes through the Labyrinth, but I've put her at fifteen. When I went back and forth in my mind about fourteen versus fifteen, I was surprised at how much more grown up fifteen sounds, even though it's just a matter of twelve months. I've noticed that all of my posted Labyrinth fanfics deal a lot with Sarah's relationship with her father. Despite the fact that he only shows up in the movie for a minute or two, I feel like he has a lot of potential. In this specific story, I imagine him with quite the sense of humor, so I hope you enjoy it.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters or ideas created by Jim Henson. I borrowed them for the entertainment and amusement of my audience.

SUMMARY: Fragments of a broken dream from long ago, now floating upon the waves of memories that were surfacing after years of slumber within the depths of her mind.

GENRE: Dramatic Humor (aka Drama/Humor)

RATING: PG-13

DATE: October 24, 2013

::~*~::

Sarah rolled out of her bed and stumbled to the bathroom, blindly picking her way thru the typical teenage clutter of her bedroom floor through eyes glued shut from sleep. Blindly reaching for the light switch, she flipped on the bathroom light. She rubbed fists into her sleepy eyes and slowly opened them. Suppressing the urge to yawn, she leaned closer to the mirror, fingers probing the flesh around her eyes. She wasn't displaying the tell-tale dark circles around her eyes that evidenced severe lack of sleep, but she was so unbelievably tired.

Turning the faucet on, she let the water flow for a few seconds as she tied her long, brown hair behind her. Splashing the ice cold water onto her face, she was mildly relieved to feel the shock of water starting to wake her up more completely. Grabbing the hand towel off of the rung, she started drying her face off.

"Hey, honey."

Sarah shrieked in alarm, whipping the towel from her face as she spun to face the speaker.

Surprised by the outburst, her father, Robert, had taken a step backwards in the hall, concern etched across his features. Regaining his composure, he added, "Expecting someone a bit more sinister?" He couldn't help grinning at his quip.

Sarah didn't answer for several seconds, choosing instead to wipe the remaining water off of her face. She peered at her reflection in the mirror again, sensing something was different about her, but unable to put her finger on what it was. "No, I—" her voice trailed off as her eyes were caught by the toilet tank, or, rather, what was sitting on top of it. She snatched up the small, red, leather-bound book that was lying so innocently on top of the tank, her fingers flipping familiarly through the pages. She turned to look at her father, who was still standing in the doorway. "I just had the strangest dream." She slammed the book shut and waved it in his face. "I dreamt that this really happened. I was really in the Labyrinth, dad."

He plucked the book out of her fingertips and flipped through a few pages before he closed it and tapped her lightly on the head with it. "I've always teased you about having an overactive imagination." He smiled as she grabbed the book out of his hands and tossed it on the counter.

"But, it felt so real. I wished Toby away and then I had to traverse the entire Labyrinth to win him back before the Goblin King turned him into one of his goblin slaves."

Robert was nodding his head absentmindedly, and Sarah was about to accuse him of not listening to her, when he replied, "I hate to break it to you, kid, but your plots to wish your brother away forever have all come to naught." He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. "As of two minutes ago, he was safe and sound in his crib, blessedly asleep still, with not a hair, or wart, out of place."

Sarah playfully pushed her dad away as he asked, "Do goblins even have warts?"

"I don't know, dad," Sarah replied, picking up her toothbrush and lathering it with a generous amount of toothpaste. Around the toothbrush and a mouthful of frothy paste, she continued, "I was too concerned with getting to Toby in time that I didn't stop to examine them. Besides, they were too busy trying to kill me." She spit into the sink and rinsed her mouth out. "Of course, the creatures in the Underground could be different in appearance from their same counterparts in other fantasy worlds, so, somewhere out there, goblins could have warts."

Robert's brows knit together in confusion. "Underground?"

"That's what the world is called where the Labyrinth exists," she hurriedly replied before continuing with her theory. "Take fairies, for example. So many fantasy stories paint them as lovely, humanoid creatures that are kind, or shy, and extraordinarily beautiful, like Tinkerbell. Not the fairies in the Underground. They're beautiful, yes, but they also bite you. They even bit me on the finger." She held up her finger to emphasize her point, not at all prepared to see the miniscule puncture on her fingertip.

Her father made a point of examining it. "You probably punctured it on something yesterday. Don't forget, you did cut some flowers from Karen's garden yesterday afternoon. Weren't there roses in your bouquet?"

"Yeah, maybe…" She barely heard his comment, her eyes fixated on the small wound to her finger. "It was a dream, wasn't it?" The question was more to herself than to her father.

Concern creeping across his features once again, he leaned around Sarah and picked up the book from off of the counter. "Maybe I should put this in a safe place for a couple of days…or years," the last was mumbled mostly for his own ears, but Sarah picked up on it.

Snatching the book out of his hands, she clutched it to her chest. "I'll put it away for a few days." She gave him her best smile, but even she could feel how cheesy it was.

He looked skeptical. "It was just a dream?" The tone of his voice clearly stated she needed to be careful how she answered.

She nodded vigorously, the book still pressed against her breast. "Of course! Even I know that magic doesn't exist. Bye, dad!" With that, she closed the door in his face. Leaning her forehead against the cool wood of the door, she listened to his steps as they disappeared down the hall. Once she was sure he was out of earshot, she turned and slid down the door to sit on the bathroom floor. She looked at her finger again, unable to tear her eyes away from the tiny puncture wound. Her dad had to be right. Before she had gone to the park yesterday afternoon, she had cut some flowers from Karen's garden, desiring to do something nice for the woman who was allowing her some free time before she had to babysit Toby. She had still resented her for making her babysit at all, but the gesture had been appreciated and Karen had praised Sarah's flower-arranging skills. She had to have pricked her finger on a thorn. It was completely plausible.

She groaned in frustration, the heels of her hands pressing hard against her eye sockets until she could feel a slight pain in her skull. Did she believe she had pricked her finger on a thorn because it had actually happened, or because believing the alternative would place her one step from the loony bin? She ripped the elastic band out of her hair, ignoring the tendrils of hair that were being pulled from her scalp. She wouldn't be at all surprised if her father were in the kitchen right now, flipping through the therapist section of the yellow pages.

Her eyes narrowed as she saw the book that had fallen into her lap when she had collapsed onto the floor. One part of her wanted to try and flush it down the toilet, knowing full well it wouldn't actually flush but the water damage would destroy it more than enough for her. Another part of her was bursting with curiosity to read the story again, to relive her dream through its pages. Her own adventure had mirrored the story she loved so much far too closely for her comfort. Her hands clenched the book so tightly, she could feel its soft cover curling in her grip. Leaping to her feet, she wrenched the door open and rushed into her bedroom.

Ripping open her closet, she started pulling things out left and right, tossing them over her shoulder as she dug ever deeper. Finally reaching a box of old clothes and toys that she had yet to dispose of, she buried the book deep within and quickly shoved the box back into the darkened corner of her closet. It was good that she was placing it out of sight and out of thought for a time. The vividness of her dream actually frightened her and she was surprised at how vivid it still was, which was contrary to most of the dreams she had. Looking around her messy room, she noticed something else that further emphasized it having been only a dream. There was no evidence whatsoever of the raucous party that had supposedly happened there in her bedroom the night before. As rowdy and messy as it had been, she would have expected to see at least one piece of errant confetti or one wayward speck of glitter somewhere, but there was nothing.

Pushing the dream to the back of her mind, she was surprised at how quickly it faded from memory as the days turned into weeks, then into months, and, finally, years.