A/N: I miiight make this a 4 part story. The last chapter may need splitting.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. :(

Chapter 2

"Toby, breakfast," Sarah called. When there was no reply except for the incessant chatter of cartoons, she poked her head out of the kitchen and said, "Come on, Tobe, time to eat."

"Aw, can't I eat in here?"

"No, I let you do that yesterday and you spilled juice on the carpet. You can watch more cartoons after breakfast."

"Aw, okaaay," was the childishly aggrieved reply.

Sarah set plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast on the table, smiling when her little brother let out a whoop of glee at the sight. He loved bacon but his mother did not, so it was a rare occasion when he was able to eat the stuff. "Don't forget to drink your milk," Sarah said, as she approached her food in a somewhat more dignified manner.

Toby rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. I'm not a baby anymore."

His sister grinned. "All grown up, are you?"

"Yup! Mum says I get to have a whole new room soon. They're going to knock down the wall between your room and the other one, BAM" he waved his arms expansively "to make a huge one, just for me." Then he looked stricken. "But only if you're okay with it."

Sarah laughed at his expression. He was such a sweet boy; their parents had not asked for her opinion about their project, but Toby would truly fight them if he thought it would make her sad. "Don't worry about it, Tobe. A bigger room means that you can put a whole lot more stuff in there. It'll be easier to hide your mess when your mom orders you to clean up." She winked conspiratorially, and Toby snickered in delight.

But if they were converting her room, Sarah mused as she finished breakfast and Toby went back to his cartoons, they would probably want her to remove more of her things. Probably everything. There was some amount of bitterness at the thought, but she shrugged it off in annoyance, pinning up her long, dark hair and setting about her weekend chores.

"Give me the child." Her voice was soft, pleading. Clothed in a white stage dress and a beautiful headband of flowers adorning her hair, she began to walk forward, her voice growing in confidence with each step. "Through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered—I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City," she spread her arms and swept her gaze imperiously over the landscape, "to take back the child that you have stolen."

She advanced slowly, inexorably toward the barn owl that had found perch on a nearby post. "For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great!" Thunder growled above as she tried to remember the last line. "For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great…" she muttered, staring hard at the ground. Why was it so difficult to remember that line? "Damn." She reached into her sleeve intending to retrieve the book, when the sound of the wind was broken by another voice. Mocking.

"You don't need that book anymore, do you, Sarah?"

Her hands dropped and she gasped, eyes widening in horror as she realized what was happening. Oh my god, the barn owl— She could hear the swish of booted footsteps on grass, stalking toward her with deliberate ease.

"That line has been forever engraved into your heart, hasn't it? Just. Like. M—"

Sarah let out a strangled scream as her eyes flew open to meet the wide, anxious ones of her little brother. She clutched a hand to her chest and tried to calm the frantic thudding of her heart.

"Are you alright, Sarah?" Toby asked, wide-eyed and frightened.

Sarah managed a shaky smile. "Y-Yeah. Just a bad dream. It's a good thing you're here to protect me, right?" She felt a measure of relief when the fear leaked away from Toby's face.

"Yeah, I'll always protect you, Sarah."

The innocent determination she heard in that simple utterance nearly brought her to tears. Oh Toby. I don't think you can protect your sister from her own madness. She had only closed her eyes for a short afternoon nap when the dream had besieged her. Were these dreams simply a product of seeing her old toys again, or was she beginning to lose her mind? This was the very reason she had put the toys away and shut the door on her fantastic imagination ten years ago; the ability to distinguish fantasy from reality is what separated the sane from the insane. And she was terrified that she was quite possibly going insane.

"You're going to take me to the store, right?" Toby asked gamely. Sarah had promised to buy him a new puzzle book if he behaved while she went grocery shopping.

"That's right. We'd better get going before it gets too late."

Before they were able to leave, however, their father called. "Hey dad, how is the redecoration coming along?"

"It's going great!" he replied enthusiastically. "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Since we're also planning to remodel your old room for Toby, I was wondering if you'd like to stay the night sometime this week? Just to see your room one last time," he laughed. "For old time's sake."

And then cart everything I own out of there, Sarah thought dryly. She tried to suppress a shiver at the thought of seeing the empty shelves that her stuffed toys used to occupy. She wouldn't have much left to take—whatever books she hadn't given to Toby, some photo albums, and the contents of her vanity drawers. She beat down another shiver at the vision of that drawer.

"No thank you. Once I deliver the little monster back to you, I'm going back to work." Sarah grinned at Toby's indignant expression. "I'll evacuate all of my property when I drop him off."

"Oh honey, you don't need to do that," he replied, but Sarah could hear the slight relief in his voice. He had probably had an argument with his wife about the issue.

They chatted for a few more minutes until Toby's impatient pointing at the clock ended their brief conversation, and Sarah made a quick pass through the apartment to check that everything was in order. Her gaze lingered fleetingly on the boxed up toys before resolutely turning her back on them. So maybe they had resurrected some unwanted dreams—but that was all they were: dreams. Nothing more.

Sarah was perturbed when Toby picked out a book full of mazes. She had never realized that he had developed an interest in solving labyrinthine puzzles.

"I like the ones where the goal is to get to the center," he said, once they were back in her living room. "They always put something in the center, like a treasure chest! It's a lot more fun than just leaving after trying so hard to get out. But those are fun too." He flipped through the book in search of a "get-to-the-center" maze, oblivious to the fact that Sarah was regarding him very strangely.

"The center of the Labyrinth?" she said faintly.

Toby frowned at her peculiar phrasing as he settled on one of the puzzles. "Yeah, I guess. Sometimes I pretend there's a really scary monster in the middle, and I have to go into the maze to fight it. And when I make a wrong turn, it's because the big monster has bad little monsters that trick—"

"There are no such things as 'big monsters' and 'little monsters' in the Labyrinth," Sarah interrupted sharply. She immediately regretted the harshness of her tone when the young boy looked up in surprise.

After a short silence, he replied quietly, "Sorry. I was only pretending…"

Sarah sighed and went over to wrap her arms around him in apology. "No, it's alright, Toby. I shouldn't have spoken that way. I just don't want your imagination to get too carried away, alright?"

"Alright," he said doubtfully.

Sarah berated herself internally as she returned to her bedroom. She glanced at the boxes and resisted the urge to deliver them a vicious kick. It wasn't Toby's imagination that was in danger of getting too carried away. And it was affecting her behavior in reality, just as she had always feared it would. As much as she dreaded confronting her old room and all the memories they contained, she resolved to go through every inch of it until she proved to herself once and for all that what had happened ten years ago had simply been an extremely vivid, but ultimately imaginary dream. Perhaps she would even take up her father's offer after all and spend a night there. Because it was just a dream, she thought firmly. The problem was that at 15 years old, she had slammed the door on her heart—but its innermost walls had never stopped whispering that maybe, just maybe, it hadn't been a dream at all.