A/N: I got this idea from 'Sally's Wonderful Life', which is a pretty awesome story by SterlingSilverWolf. (It also happens to be the first Jack and Sally fanfic that I ever read!) Please check it out. NBC belongs to Henry Selick and Tim Burton. (Keep forgetting to put that.)
Caged
A JackxSally (naturally)
Jack Skellington's tummy hurt. He hadn't eaten for nearly twenty hours, and he'd had ample opportunity to regret every meal he'd skipped. He'd gotten caught up in the fever of Christmas excitement. Now the giddy thrill had fully worn off, leaving the Pumpkin King exhausted and sore and hopeless. What had he done? Ruined everything, that's what. What had he, the master of fright, been thinking when he'd dreamed of taking over such a joyful holiday? He'd been mistaken from the start. Now Jack could see that he'd brought gloom and horror, not peace and goodwill toward all men. But now it was too late. Jack curled up on his cot, which was a shade dingier than the claustrophobic concrete walls. The iron bars cut him off from the outside world like rusty ribs. The dank, mildew-laden air made him cough, and the wintry blasts blustering through the one crudely hewn window sent racking shivers through every one of his bones.
"I'm so sorry," Halloween's hero whispered to no one in particular, "So very s…" He broke off coughing and curled up tighter with a pained wheeze. Jack tried to pull his knees up to his chin and found that his feet were frozen fast to the cot. After a few half-hearted attempts to free them, Jack drifted off into a half-doze. Part of his mind wandered in weird, quasi-realistic dreams. Another part feebly processed what was going on around him without really taking it in. When the commotion started, Jack wasn't sure if he was awake or asleep. As the guards surrounding his cell grew increasingly animated, the Pumpkin King floated closer to consciousness. Radios squawked; men expressed hushed anxieties. A low rumbling outside the prison drew ever closer.
Boots clumped on tile. The safeties on a dozen rifles clacked off. Guards' hurried snatches of conversation grew more agitated. And still the rumbling came closer. Even in his fuzzy state, Jack could begin to pick words out of the rumble. He strained his muzzy senses. With a start, he recognized his own name. He listened more closely. "We want Jack," chanted dozens of voices, "We want Jack." The chant was carried on in grunts, squawks, whines, growls, hisses, and snarls, all coming together as one adamant sentiment. "We want Jack. We want Jack." The skeleton king sat up slowly. His head spun something awful, and he clutched his skull as the world reeled dizzily. He forced himself to sit up straighter. Craning his neck, Jack peered out the window. It took some time for him to make sense of what he saw.
A line of ghouls and monsters wound all the way around the prison grounds. The tail end of it disappeared into the growing blush of sunrise. The vampires held their parasols in one hand and colorful signs in the other. The witches carried a banner emblazoned with a crude representation of Jack's smiling face and block letters that read: GIVE US JACK. The mayor's hearse inched up the snowy hill, its bullhorn blaring the chant. And leading the town was none other than Sally. The shy, quiet ragdoll limped resolutely in front of the hearse, carrying a sign that read FREE THE PUMPKIN KING! Shouting guards stomped into the snow, rifles aimed into the crowd. The chant faltered but didn't cease. Sally didn't flinch. She took three uneven strides forward and then stopped, raising her free hand to the sky to indicate that she was unarmed. The biggest of Jack's guards stepped out and growled that all the bugaboos had thirty seconds to scram.
Sally met his gaze. Jack heard her mention the Constitution and something about the right to a peaceful assembly. He was deeply impressed, and more so when the men grumbled but lowered their guns. Once the rifles had been lowered, the mayor clambered out of his hearse and joined Sally at the front. They talked to the humans for quite some time, and Jack had to lie down again. His eye sockets fluttered open when the tumblers in the door lock groaned. Seconds later, the rusty door squealed open, sending iron flakes twirling to the frosted floor. Jack blinked several times, feeling groggy and none too hot. He squinted as hard as he could through the myopic haze and made out a face. A familiar face. "Sally…" the Pumpkin King croaked. The gentle ragdoll knelt beside his bed and lowered her head. Her long hair swept across his skull, filling his nostrils with pumpkin spice and fabric softener as she softly pressed her lips to his forehead. They lingered there for a moment, then retreated.
She spoke to someone over her shoulder. "He's got a fever." The groan of Dr. Finklestein's electronic chair stopped right next to Sally. A small, clammy hand felt Jack's forehead, then withdrew. "So he does." A warm, soft hand slid into the crook of Jack's impossibly long arm. "Come on, Jack. We'll help you." "Okay," Jack croaked. He was too muddled to ask where they were going. As Sally's arm wrapped around his waist, Jack looped his arm across her shoulders. He knew he wasn't firing on all four cylinders, but he could have sworn that he saw a female Finklestein chip his feet off of the cot. The charismatic skeleton stumbled along as best he could on numb feet and jellied legs while Sally supported him on one side and the two Finklesteins propped him up on the other. They led him out into the snow and into the assembly. Countless hands of equally countless unique textures, shapes, and sizes took Jack up and tucked him inside the hearse. The engine ground to life. The scent of pumpkin spice filled the cabin as the seat next to Jack squeaked. Jack laid his head in Sally's lap. She stroked his skull with trembling fingers. The soothing rumble of the wheels lulled Jack off to dreamland, and he drifted away in a haze of heat.
When Jack blinked again, he wasn't sure where he was. All he knew was that all the colors that he could see were too bright- they almost seemed to shimmer. As his awareness returned by increments, the hero of Halloween made several observations: 1) He was snuggled in a warm, fluffy bed that felt nothing like his cot.
2) He was nestled from chin to toe bones in impossibly soft, thick, patchy blankets.
3) Something smelled goooooood. 4) He was not alone. This became obvious when the appealing smell drew closer, making his mouth water. The Pumpkin King did his best to sit up, and found that he could as long as he leaned on the pillows piled up at the head of the bed. A shy smile floated close to his face. "Hi, Jack." Even though he felt like he had a big lump of clay packed into his skull, Jack recognized that voice immediately. He smiled muzzily. "Hello, Sally." "How are you feeling?" Her voice was hushed and easy on his pounding head(for which he was immensely grateful), but her words carried easily, and he didn't miss a one. "I could be better," he admitted, and coughed into his elbow several times. She patted his back with the flat of one hand. The patting turned to rubbing as he finished.
"Sorry," Jack croaked. "There's nothing to be sorry about." Sally assured him. She rubbed a little more, then asked, "Do you think you could eat something, Jack?" Jack's long-empty stomach cramped and groaned. "I think so," he replied. Sally's hand caressed his shoulder as it left his back. Then the delicious smell came so close that Jack could feel warm, fragrant waves edging out his chills. His bluish companion held a spoon to his lips, and he sipped eagerly. Warm, hearty broth and soft chunks of potato bathed his tongue. "Mmmmmm," he intelligibly complimented. "It's baked potato soup," Sally informed him, "The doctor's favorite during wintertime." Jack could taste why. He ate every swallow and bite. Then, strangely tuckered out, he drifted again. The skeleton king shivered, aches pulsing in his every joint. Weird dreams seized hold of and unnerved him. Every time he moaned in his sleep, Sally petted his brow with a cool cloth and spoke softly until the demons of his subconscious retreated into their fetid corners.
Over his next bowl of soup, Jack learned that he was staying in her room. That made sense- he was close to Dr. Finklestein, and only a stairless staircase away from all kinds of medicines. Still, his friend's vigilance surprised him. She was a constant presence. Oh, she faded into the background when visitors came, but she was always there, sewing or reading. She remained when the mayor left to work on his next campaign. She stayed after Jack's friends left for their own beds. The gentle ragdoll gave Jack his meals, explained about the lady Finklestein, and helped the doctor measure out doses of Jack's medicine. One day, while she was catching a catnap on the chaise lounge in the corner, Jack felt aware enough to ask Dr. Finklestein what had happened before the march on the prison. The doctor told him that Santa and Sally had broken out of Oogie Boogie's lair. "How?" Jack had to ask. There was a beat of awkward silence. "Lock, Shock, and Barrel fried him." was the reply. "Oh." Jack made a face.
"We were all upset when we heard the news about your sled being shot down," Dr. Finklestein went on, "And we watched the news stations for any information. Some of us thought you were gone for good, but most of the town wouldn't believe it. Then we saw a bulletin about you being thrown in prison." His voice grew softer. "The entire town turned out for the emergency meeting. Everyone helped make signs. No one wanted to be without one. Even the children were carrying posters. We weren't going to go home without you, Jack." Touched almost beyond words, Jack was silent for a minute. Then he straightened up. "The next time the mayor comes, I'll have to give him my utmost thanks." Dr. Finklestein shook his domed head. "No, Jack." He squeezed the king's bony arm and peeled off his goggles. Jack recognized pride in the doctor's eyes. It was the same pride that was making his voice soft. "The mayor didn't organize that protest." Surprise, then confusion, gave the Pumpkin King pause. "Then who did?" The elderly doctor released a long wheeze of a sigh, and Jack had the somewhat uncomfortable feeling that he'd missed something. The tiny hand on his arm tightened. "Sally did."
Jack smiled as Sally stirred his soup. "It's worm's wart and fish tail…your favorite," she told him. He just kept smiling. How had he not noticed how smart she was? How caring? He'd always counted her as one of his closest friends, but he'd never realized just how much she cared for him. She'd brought him supper when he'd been so distracted that he'd forgotten to eat. She'd stood against the crowd and risked telling him that she didn't think that taking over Christmas was a good idea, even though she'd been alone. And she hadn't just organized his rescue effort- she'd stood up to the humans, given him her bed, prepared meals for him, and comforted him even in the middle of the night. As the patchwork redhead sat down next to him and scooped the spoon into the soup bowl, Jack reached out and took her hand. She started in surprise. Jack squeezed her hand. "Sally…I…I had no idea." To his surprise, she wouldn't meet his eyes.
She stared into the soup bowl as if it had just sloshed a 'good evening', worrying at her lip with her neat white teeth. Warmth spread from their joined hands, traveled up Jack's arm, and crept up his neckbone. "I'm just glad that you're okay," Sally stammered, at length. He rubbed the back of his skull with one hand. "Thank you. For everything." Sally looked at the floor and swung one leg. She set the soup bowl down on the nightstand and stood up. A few stitches popped, and her hand came away in Jack's. "Oops," Jack gulped. Sally squeaked, flung one hand across her face, and scampered down the stairs. Jack and Zero looked after her, Zero's wispy tail sweeping gently. Jack regarded the soup, but he didn't feel hungry. He got up slowly, and found that his legs could support him. The Pumpkin King carefully tucked Sally's hand into his pocket and slid into his shoes.
He and Zero descended the stairless staircase and found Jewel rubbing Dr. Finklestein's shoulders to sighs of contentment. Jack cleared his throat awkwardly. The doctor frowned, but Jewel didn't seem to mind. "'Allo, dahling. 'Ow ah you?" "Just dandy, Mrs. Finklestein. Thank you," Jack replied. "Did you happen to see Sally just now?" She went out for a walk," the doctor grunted. "Was in an awful hurry." "That way." Jewel pointed. Jack bowed to her and thanked them both before heading out the side door.
Jack spotted Sally sitting on the very top of Spiral Hill, holding a flower in one hand and picking the petals with her toes. He could see her mouthing 'he loves me, he loves me not.' The skeleton king's grin grew until it stretched as wide as the moon that was hanging like a slash of frost in the sky. His heart was galloping crazily and he felt weak in the knees. But, strangely enough, it wasn't a bad feeling. Not by a long shot. Sliding Sally's hand from his pocket and extending it before him, Jack started up the hill. His heart filled at the sight of her. So quiet. So alone. Not for long. So as to avoid startling her, Jack tenderly began to sing. "My dearest friend…"