A/N: Happy New Year, dearest readers! The plot bunnies have been feeling generous, and I am only too happy to comply with them and present to you a new installment. Even though this ride is far from over, your feedback of any kind is like water to a goldfish. …not really exaggerating, you guys. (And gals. Waves) By the way, it's not my intention to make Barrel overly fixated on food. I don't think he's fat, and don't want to make him seem like a foodie. But this is just the way the story is turning out. Anyway, enough yammering. Welcome to 2014 and another healthy dose of Fun!

"I say we make a run for it, right now, while he's sleeping."

Shock regarded her red-headed cohort with a combination of disbelief and scorn. "In case you've forgotten, we don't exactly have anywhere to go back to."

Lock allowed his tail to lash, trying not to show just how much that fact rattled him. "So we can live on the streets."

Shock snorted. "Because we're so popular in town."

"Are you going to sneer at everything I say, or are you going to help tie these sheets together?" snapped Lock.

"Can we have breakfast before we go?"

"Wait a minute!" Shock demanded.

Four sunken eyes gave her their attention, two smoldering, two sleepy.

The witch girl planted her hands on her hipbones. "Look, I don't like this arrangement any more than you guys do. But until we can figure out a way to get ahold of a steady food supply, and protection from our prankees, we're stuck here. It's just something that we're going to have to deal with."

A silence followed her words.

Then, Lock grumbled, "At least with Oogie, we got to listen to stuff getting devoured alive."

"Jack will probably have some really gross habits, too," Barrel offered, consolingly.

"Being raised by wolves worked for Mowgli," Jack mumbled.

Sally regarded the kitchen. "It isn't that bad, Jack."

Jack yawned the gaping yawn of the truly sleep deprived and pressed four knucklebones into his skull. "Compared to what?"

Sally shrugged, then reached up and touched his shoulder. "I can clean it."

The skeleton king's sockets widened. His brow furrowed, and they squinched back to slightly below normal size. "I couldn't leave you with this mess."

"I'll just get the barf and the milk that'll stain if it's left where it is."

"Even so, that's a considerable task."

She straightened the collar of his nightshirt. "Jack, you need your sleep."

"So do you."

"I only have a few deliveries to make for the witches tomorrow- you're going to be busy until dinnertime."

"Or later, depending on our dear Mayor's state of mind."

"See? You need to rest. Don't worry about the kitchen."

"But-"

She touched his lips with one tiny finger. Instinctively, his hand rose up to secure hers. He sighed, tickling Sally's finger somewhat and making a smile flit onto her lips. "At least let me get the barf."

They set to work taking back the kitchen.

"Do you think that your kitty is going to be okay?" Jack asked.

Sally nodded. "She'll be fine. She just had a lot of excitement for one morning."

"Funny, I can relate."

Sally laughed softly as she rubbed at the fridge with a paper towel. "How's Zero doing?"

"I sent him to his grave to cool his heels for a while." Jack straightened, threw away several vomity paper towels, and washed his hands. He laid a newly cleaned hand on Sally's shoulder. "Thank you, Sally. I won't forget this."

Sally smiled shyly and twisted a milk-stained washcloth in her hands. Jack kissed her and staggered back upstairs to salvage what precious little remained of his downtime. Sally waited, cupping one tiny hand to her ear and waiting until she caught the faint slam of Jack's bedroom door. Then she lurched to her feet, set down the cloth that she'd been holding, and limped to the cabinet that contained plates.

The knock was so soft that only Lock, who was closest to the door, heard it. However, when he tensed up, the other two went on high alert. Wordlessly, they began feeling around in what little that Jack and Sally had been able to help them recover from the wreck of their former home. The three had only been able to find and salvage a few of their more durable weapons, but those would have to suffice for the time being.

"Who is it?" Lock asked, taking a mace from Barrel and sliding it behind his back.

"Room service," answered a quiet, non-masculine voice.

The three relaxed just a hair knowing that Jack wasn't standing just outside waiting to beat their heads in. Still, they didn't set down their chosen weapons.

"I smell food," whispered Shock.

That was all the persuasion that the trio needed to decide that it was worth the risk to open the door just a crack. Barrel and Lock pushed the chaise lounge aside, and Shock opened the door just wide enough so she could peek out with one eye. Two scarred blue hands held three stacked plates. A singed omelet, as well as a knife and fork, rested on each one. Shock whipped the door open and snatched the plates, then darted back into the room and slammed the door. She slumped to the floor, bracing her tiny back against the door. Instantly, Barrel sprang into her lap, fumbling for a knife and fork.

"Hold your horses!" Shock complained, "You're smashing me!"

Lock grasped a handful of Barrel's shirt collar and dragged the skeleton boy off of Shock. "Don't wreck the food."

Barrel obediently sat down and fiddled anxiously with his utensils. Shock set a plate in his lap and a plate in Lock's lap. The instant each got it, he dug in like the omelet would jump up and sprint away in a burst of cheese if it wasn't promptly subdued. Shock attacked her breakfast with no more ceremony. Sally waited outside for them to finish. When the growling and munching stopped and the utensils stopped clicking, the gentle experiment spoke again.

"I want you three to help me clean up downstairs."

The three looked at each other and groaned. The fact that they had no satisfactory reason to object made the request all the worse. * * * *

The cat stared distrustfully from outside one of the living room windows as Lock helped Sally place books and knickknacks back on the downstairs bookshelf.

"So that's your cat, not Jack's?"

"She's not really mine," Sally told him, "But she's followed me around on and off ever since last Christmas Eve."

"Do you have a name for her?" Shock asked.

Sally shook her head and assisted the witch girl in lifting a lamp off of the floor. "She doesn't really have one."

The trio exchanged one of their three-way glances. This fact, apparently, was about to change.

"Skeletor," Lock immediately offered.

"Fishsticks," Shock volunteered.

"Kitty."

Both of the older trick-or-treaters stared at Barrel. He knitted his hands together. "What?"

Lock shook his head as if he was hoping to roll that particular suggestion right out of his brain. "Killer."

"Snickers," Barrel suggested, hoping to redeem himself.

They went through several more possibilities, such as 'Shadows', 'Stitches', and 'Death'. (Guess which one was Lock's.)

Then Shock tipped her head like an owl and suggested, "What about Nightshade?"

A smile flitted to Sally's lips, only a few teeth shy of a full-out grin. None of the three knew why- had they said something funny? A moment later, the almost-grin left her face, and the quiet ragdoll nodded in approval. "That would be perfect."

"Nightshade it is!" Barrel happily concluded.

The newly christened Nightshade vigorously scratched her ear, yawned, and jumped down from the window frame. * * * *

The figurative fireworks began when Jack came home that night. He and Sally had agreed the night before that they were going to need to implement and enforce several house rules for the safety (and sanity) of everyone in the manor. And so the Pumpkin King and his dearest friend sat facing three wary trick-or-treaters, who were contained at the moment but verging on becoming hostile. Jack held Sally's hand. Periodically, he'd stroke the cloth stretched over her knuckles. Shock noticed, and almost instantly the gesture began to seriously annoy her.

"Now, I know that it might not seem so to you, but staying here is a privilege." Jack started.

Lock rolled his eyes, Barrel looked unimpressed, and Shock outright snorted. Softly, mind you, but still a snort. Jack pierced her with a warning glance, and she folded her arms and averted her eyes.

"And if you're going to stay here, you're going to have to follow some certain rules."

This statement was greeted by an outpouring of groans.

"They're nothing that Sally and I don't already have to follow," Jack told the three.

Sally smoothed out a sheet of paper in her lap and then passed the paper to Jack.

The master of fright took the paper, cleared his throat, and read, "Rule Number One: you must knock and get permission before coming into someone else's room."

"What about Zero's room?" Lock challenged, almost before Jack had finished his sentence.

Jack rested his left cheekbone on one fist, trying not to become visibly impatient. "Zero stays with me. Now stick with me here." He moved on. "Rule Number Two: Nightshade is an outdoor cat. She does not belong in the manor, and she isn't allowed to have people food."

"That's two rules," Shock interjected.

Jack scowled. "If you please."

Shock raised her hands just slightly from her lap, as if the Pumpkin King had just shown her that he had a gun in his pocket.

Jack continued. "Rule Number Thr- Four: no fires inside unless they're in the fireplace."

As he and Sally had predicted, the trio erupted in protests.

"Even if they're controlled?" Barrel exclaimed.

Jack raised his hands and waited for the three to quiet down. They did, oh-so-reluctantly. "That's the rule."

Lock folded his arms so tightly that he looked like he was about to snap in half. Shock swung one leg moodily. Barrel looked both disappointed and worried. The paper crinkled slightly as Jack peeked at the next item on the list. He huffed out a near-silent breath. "Oh boy."

Sally squeezed his hand and gazed up at him reassuringly. Jack squeezed back and gave her a weak smile. Then, drawing on the strength that Sally was giving him, the Pumpkin King turned back to the trio and asserted, "Absolutely no use of weapons inside."

The three screamed, "WHAT?" with three different voices and one inflection.

They rose from the couch, shouting and wildly gesturing. Sally raised her free hand, trying to calm them, and Jack yelled in vain for order. The evening went downhill from there.

(This doesn't bode well! By the way, the cat's name totally isn't meant to rip off 'Nightshade's Tales', a story written by Internet friend and fellow writer The Cat Loving Kid. You should check it out. shameless plug)