A/N: This is a repost of an old fic. There are two completed chapters thus far. I do intend to continue the story, though I cannot give you a schedule of updates at this time. The title of this comes from a poem by Emily Dickinson.

This story deals with sensitive matters including injury and death. Special thanks to my original beta for these first two chapters, cu-kid.

CHAPTER ONE
In Red-Eyed Pain

One breath.

One breath was all it took for the world to fall apart. One breath, one sharp intake of air, between what Sarah had always known and her new reality. A single breath.

She couldn't move at first, unable to make sense of the scene before her. Not possible, not possible, not possible, not possible…

She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, to wake up from this nightmare, but she froze, her mouth stretched wide with a silent shriek.

In the next breath, whatever force held her in place dissipated and her feet propelled her toward the crumpled figure in the road. Not possible, not possible, not possible…

Someone pulled at her, called to her, but she could only hear the screeching of tires, the screaming of children over and over again. She wrenched her arm free, dashing forward, eyes on the little boy with shaggy blond hair whose body sprawled on the bloodied asphalt at impossible angles.

A wail built inside of her, starting in the depths of her soul, crashing through her until it erupted from her lips. She fell to her knees before his broken form, desperate to pull him into her arms, but her first aid training prevented her from doing more than stretching a quaking hand toward him.

"Toby!" she yelled, hoping he'd blink open his wide blue eyes and smile. He didn't move. "Toby! Toby!"

Sirens. There were sirens now. And people. Everywhere.

"Toby!" Sarah screamed his name over and over again, until her throat became raw. She screamed even as the paramedics moved her out of the way, as they worked on the seven-year-old, fitting him with a neck brace, an oxygen mask.

She reached for him as he was lifted into the ambulance, tried to climb in after him. Hands pulled her back, like manacles on her arms. "No!" She wept as the vehicle sped away, lights spinning, sirens squealing.

One breath.

Beep. Beep. Hiss.

The respirator forced Toby's lungs to expand.

Beep. Beep. Hiss.

He had never regained consciousness. Brain dead. The doctors bandied about the possibility, clinical and detached. Sarah wanted to rail at them, make them see past Toby's bruised, swollen face to the energetic little boy lost inside that coma. She wanted them to know his exuberant smile, his unconquerable spirit, his obsession with the Mighty Morphing Power Rangers. She wanted them to fight, to believe he would recover. She wanted them to care.

Beep. Beep. Hiss.

"I'm sorry, sweetie."

Sarah looked up into a sympathetic face. The nurse. Mary? Maggie? Sarah couldn't remember.

"Your mother's on the phone," the nurse said.

Sarah nodded. Her parents were on a cruise—a long overdue and well-deserved getaway. Sarah had gladly taken two weeks off from school to come home and care for Toby. She'd promised her dad and Karen they had nothing to worry about, told them to go have the time of their lives. Toby would be fine. Sarah made it thirteen days without breaking that promise.

Dread made her legs feel like lead as she stood. Would her parents ever be able to forgive her? Would she ever forgive herself?

Not your fault. The detective had said those words after he interviewed her, but Sarah was plagued with what-if's. What if she'd given in to her impulse to pick up Toby early from school today, to treat him to a Friday matinee for their last full day together? What if she'd waited for his bus on the other side of the street so he didn't have to cross? What if? What if? What if?

She cast one last glance at her brother before leaving his room. He looked so small, so fragile beneath a jumbled mess of wires and IV tubes in the large hospital bed. Her throat tightened.

Beep. Beep. Hiss.

"This way." The woman placed a hand at Sarah's elbow, gently guiding her to the nurse's station.

The receiver sat on the desk, and Sarah eyed it as if it were a coiled snake, ready to strike. Her hands shook as she picked it up.

"Hello?" Her tone was surprisingly composed, as disconnected as the doctors working on Toby.

"Oh, my god, Sarah!" Karen said. "What happened? Is Toby all right?"

Sarah's heart ached at the hope in her stepmother's tone, but it didn't buckle her knees as she expected. She felt out of her body, floating aimlessly as she calmly told Karen, "He was hit by a car. He's in a coma."

"No. No, not my baby boy!" Karen sobbed. There was a jostling sound, and Karen's muffled voice: "He's in a coma, Robert. Someone hit him with a car!"

More jostling. Sarah waited, hoping once more this was all some horrible dream—that she'd wake soon to find Toby watching Saturday morning cartoons as he ate a bowl of cereal.

"Sarah?" Robert said. His familiar baritone pulled her back into her body, reality crashing over her again with the echoes of screeching tires and screaming children. Why wasn't her father here? She needed him, needed to curl up against him and weep, needed to feel his hands as he assured her everything would be all right.

"Yes?" Her voice quavered, the calm syphoned from her as she clutched the phone. She wanted to climb into it, into his arms.

"The ship comes into port in the morning. We'll be on the first flight out." He paused, and Sarah held the receiver so close, her ear began to hurt. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, Dad," she lied, choking back a sob. She had to be strong—for her parents, for Toby. "Hurry."

Sarah handed the phone to the nurse and rushed back to Toby's room before the tears could fall. She sagged against the threshold, watching the rhythmic up-down of his tiny chest.

Beep. Beep. Hiss.

He might never wake.

Beep. Beep. Hiss.

Brain dead.

Beep. Beep. Hiss.

Not your fault.

The walls closed in on her, stealing the air from the room, suffocating her. She had to get out, get away from this bleakness, to think, to breathe. She sprinted down the hall, burst through the door to the stairwell, dashed down five flights. Her lungs burned by the time she reached the lobby, but she didn't stop running, didn't care that people stared at her, called after her.

Outside in the night air, she found a secluded garden and collapsed against a bench, unleashing the despair she'd kept pent up since arriving at the hospital. Her body racked with each sob, tears burned her eyes. She was powerless to save her brother. She would give anything, sacrifice everything to bring him back. Just as she had when she was fifteen.

Just as she had when she was fifteen.

The words took a hold of her, shook her from her anguished cry. Could she? Could she call on him? Could he help? Would he help?

I'll be there for you as the world falls down.

Her world had fallen down—but then, had he meant any of it? She'd been nearly a child herself, surely the Goblin King hadn't loved her, hadn't really wanted to give her everything. It had been a ploy, to distract her, to keep her from defeating him.

Hadn't it?

Even if he had loved her, he must despise her now. She had rejected him, conquered his Labyrinth, beat him at his own game. He wouldn't lift a finger to help her.

But she had to try. She was out of options.

"Jareth," she whispered, afraid summoning him would bring his terrible wrath down on her.

One heartbeat. Two. Three. Four.

Nothing happened.

"Jareth," she said again, louder. She couldn't give up yet, not when Toby's life was on the line.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

"Jareth!"

"No need to shout. I heard you the first time."

Sarah spun, her heart leaping into her throat. The Goblin King stood on the small lawn, his hands at his hips. He wore his black armor and tattered cloak. Sarah had come to believe, in the intervening years, that her adolescent mind had exaggerated the power and danger he exuded, but her memories had not come close to doing him justice. He was terrifying and alluring all at once.

"Well, if it isn't you." He smirked at her, paced around her. "What do you want of me?" He circled closer. "Looking for a rematch, are you? Feeling the need to destroy another millennia-old castle? What are the stakes this time? Another child?"

"Please, stop." Sarah pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to stay a fresh wave of tears.

"Why?" He leaned forward. "Why did you call me?"

She looked up at him, finding his cold, mismatched eyes staring down at her. "I need your help."

He threw back his head with a laugh. "And why should I do anything for you?"

Sarah shook her head. "Not for me. For Toby."

Jareth's expression sobered. "What of the boy?"

Sarah cast her eyes to the hospital, sliding them up the wall to the fifth story. Jareth turned, following her gaze. In a shower of sparkles, he vanished without a word. That was it. Her last hope gone. Sarah slouched under the weight of her loss, aching, exhausted. She stretched out on the bench, pillowing her head with her arm. She couldn't go back inside, not yet.

One breath. Two. Three. Four.

She closed her eyes, half hoping to slip into oblivion—to go where Toby had gone. A world without his blue eyes, full of mischief and laughter, was no world she wanted to live in. He had cured her loneliness, taught her love and selflessness—it only took losing him once for her to understand what he meant to her. She could not survive losing him twice.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

"I can do nothing for him." Jareth reappeared, standing over her, his tone as unfeeling as the doctor's had been.

Anger surged within Sarah like a tide of molten lava. Was she the only one here who saw Toby's death as a tragedy? Was she the only one who saw the colors dim, wash out, because her little brother could no longer brighten everything with his smile?

And here was a man with god-like powers, unwilling to do anything to change her brother's fate. How dare he! How dare he turn his back on a dying little boy! Monster!

She launched herself at the Goblin King with a shriek, pounding her fists against his armor. "You're supposed to have magic! Use it, dammit! Save him!" As she screamed, a memory surfaced of his menacing smile when he stole time from her in the Labyrinth. "Turn back time! Turn back time before the accident! Please!"

Jareth made no move to stop her, said nothing to deny her, but instead took her beating with a placid expression.

As quickly as it had ignited, her rage dissipated, leaving helpless desperation in its wake. She slumped to the ground, bereft, gripping the edges of his cloak, using it to catch her tears. "You have to save him," she pleaded. "I'll do anything. I'll pay any price. Please."

Jareth sighed. "His soul is gone. That is something I cannot reverse, no matter how I might reorder time."

"No, no, no! He can't be gone. He's just a boy." She released the dark fabric of his cloak, hands falling to her side. "Please," she whispered. "Please."

Even as she begged him, she knew it was in vain. He wouldn't or couldn't help. It was over. Her baby brother was going to die, and there was nothing anyone could do to prevent it. Numbness settled over her. Nothing mattered anymore.

"I'm sorry I bothered you," she said, her voice toneless. She turned away, willing Jareth to go back Underground, to leave her alone with her grief.

"Giving up so soon? What a pity." He stepped around her, draped himself over the bench. "I once knew a Sarah Williams who would stop at nothing to save her baby brother. But that's not you, is it?" His piercing eyes swept over her. "No. You're not her at all."

Sarah frowned, confused. "But you said—"

"I said there is nothing I can do for him." A crystal appeared in his hand. "Still taking words for granted, I see."

"Who, then?" Sarah asked. His words dangled a thread of hope before her, but she was wary, afraid he would whip it away as soon as she reached for it. "What do I have to do?"

Jareth studied her, the crystal sliding over the top of his hand, back and forth. "Ah, now there's the girl who conquered my Labyrinth." He gave her a grim smile. "I will warn you, however, the journey to Saltenne—the Den of Souls—is far more treacherous than you can imagine. Your failure means not only your brother's life, but your own."

Sarah stared up at him as she processed his meaning. The Den of Souls. He had mentioned Toby's soul was gone—did that mean she could get it back? She could travel there, find her brother, bring him home—save him. The danger meant nothing to her. If she failed, she wouldn't be able to face her father or Karen, anyway.

Fresh tears tumbled down her cheeks—tears now born of hope. "I understand."

"You don't, but you soon will." He tossed the crystal to her which she caught easily. "You'll want to pack a few provisions. The quest will not be brief. When you are prepared, use that to come to me."

Not brief? She glanced at the fifth floor of the hospital, worried that even if she prevailed, the doctors would have already cut off Toby's life support—that there would be no body for his soul to come back to.

"You needn't concern yourself. Time will not move here until you succeed or otherwise." Jareth stood. "Do hurry, though. I haven't much patience for waiting." He disappeared, leaving behind a silhouette of glitter.

Sarah clutched the cool orb to her chest, as if it were her only lifeline—Toby's only lifeline.

It was.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please feel free to leave a contribution in the little box below!