A/N: To all the fanfiction.net abuse patrol people, please note: THIS IS NOT AN MST! This is a rewrite of what the Labyrinth might have been like if some of the factors were changed, for instance, if the part of Jareth was played by Mr. Rogers. Well, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, my fanfic!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth or any of the characters. They belong to the genius, Mr. Jim Henson, may he rest in peace. Mr. Fred Rogers belongs to himself, as does his cardigan sweater.

(A/N: O yeah, * is my narration of the story.)

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Labyrinth What If's

~What if the part of Jareth was played by Mr. Rogers?~

(A/N: I highly recommend Fred Rogers' book entitled "Dear Mr. Rogers: Does It Ever Rain In Your Neighborhood?" Very good for a laugh!)

~Scene: Sarah's House~

Sarah: I wish the goblins would come and take you away...right now!

*As soon as the words left Sarah's mouth, she regretted it.*

Sarah: Toby? Toby, are you all right? Why aren't you crying?

*Desperately, she flicked the light switch on and off, with nothing to show for her efforts. Flinging back the sheet, Sarah was terrified Toby's bed completely empty. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a goblin face peer out of the drawer, another out from under a blanket, and yet another from inside the cabinet. A white barn owl fluttered at the window, finally managing to open it, and in his place stood a most charming man.*

Sarah: You're him, aren't you? You're the goblin king. I want my brother back, please, if it's all the same.

*Sarah found herself staring in awe at the man who stood before her. He was an old man, about 80, of average height and weight, clothed in brown pants, sneakers, and a cardigan sweater.*

Jareth: What's said is said.

Sarah: I didn't mean it!

*Sarah was becoming increasingly frightened, for she knew if she let the king take Toby away, he would become a puppet and spend the rest of his days in this man's twisted world of puppets, games, and trolleys.*

Jareth: Oh, you didn't?

Sarah: Please, where is he?

Jareth: You know very well where he is.

Sarah: Please bring him back. Please!

Jareth: Sarah, go back to your room. Play with your toys and your costumes. Forget about the baby.

Sarah: I can't.

Jareth: Sarah, I've brought you a gift.

Sarah: What is it?

*Sarah was enchanted, as the man made a small stoplight materialize out of thin air, and appear in his wrinkled hand.*

Jareth: It's a stoplight. Nothing more. But if you put it in your living room and look into it, it will turn red or green. But this is not a gift for an ordinary girl who takes care of a screaming baby. Do you want it? Then forget the baby.

*Sarah looked at the tempting gift, then at the mysterious sweater-clad stranger. Her eyes then shifted to her baby brother's empty bed, and her vision clouded with tears.*

Sarah: I can't. It's not that I don't appreciate what you're offering, but I want my brother back. He must be so scared.

Jareth: Sarah, don't defy me!

*The man, still holding the stoplight, transformed it into a puppet. He threw it at the frightened teenager, clinging for a second, then dropped to the ground. It then turned into a goblin and scurried away as quickly as it had appeared.*

Jareth: You're no match for me.

Sarah: I need my brother back!

Jareth: He's there. In the Land of Make-Believe. Do you still want to look for him?

*Sarah's frustration was building, as Jareth gestured toward a small trolley.*

Sarah: Is that the Land of Make-Believe?

Jareth: Turn back, Sarah. Turn back while you still can.

Sarah: I can't. Don't you understand I can't?

Jareth: What a pity.

Sarah: It doesn't look that far.

Jareth: It's further than you think. Time is short. You have thirteen hours in which to solve the labyrinth before your baby brother becomes one of us...forever. Such a pity.

*With that, the man disappeared in a cloud of white smoke, leaving behind the scent of denture adhesive and arthritis cream. Sarah wrinkled her nose, but headed straight for the labyrinth.*

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Hehe! Pretty strange, huh?

Well, I leave you with this final thought:

Should I post more? What do you think?

Am I any good, or does my writing just stink?

Are pointless rhymes the extent of my gifts,

Or should I write more on my "Laby What If's"?