"You can think clearly only with your clothes on."

Margaret Atwood

Sarah stood silent and numb in the camp clearing, the snoring of comatose goblins her only companion.

He'd done it. He'd really left. Her brother had chosen the Goblin King!

Which meant he hadn't chosen her…

For the first time she felt truly helpless. Directionless. Lost in a way she never had while in the Labyrinth. Now that she was alone and no longer needed to school her emotions to protect her brother, she vented her frustration to the void — or at least to the Canadian wilderness, which was closed enough.

What the absolute, ever-living- your-mother-is-a-fraggin'-aardvark- fuck, Toby?!

Part of her was still in disbelief that it wasn't just the latest ploy by the Goblin King.

But Toby had been so earnest… so very changed. As though his time Underground had recharged him like a flashlight with fresh batteries. He was shining bright after having been dimmed for so long.

And Sarah allowed, the acknowledgement pulled from her grudgingly, that she did not really believe Jareth would harm him. Harm Simon maybe, but that was terribly understandable. Even a judge would grant leniency given the mitigating circumstances.

But not Toby. The Goblin King had been as surprised as she'd been by his declaration. It was clear Jareth had been planning on using her brother as leverage against her. The fact Toby wanted to stay with him had derailed his plans too.

It was still her loss. And her father's, and Karen's… God, how I can face them?

Sarah kicked at the ground in defeat, wishing as she did, she'd not been wearing flip flops. She ran hands through her dirty hair, trying to think of a plan. "Be prepared." She felt like the broken mug from breakfast. Had she not always taught her kids to have contingencies in place? Anticipate the worst, so you can be your best? Was that not half of what the program was about?

She had not foreseen the Goblin King though.

Nor Toby.

She might be dirty and in need of a shower, she might have just stubbed her own toe, she might have crossed the Goblin King, and she might be saddled with eight goblin-would-be-campers, while minus 30 human children, for whom she was morally and legally responsible… but she was far from beaten. A weaker person would have given up under those odds; certainly, they would have deserted the camp and fled in search of the nearest liquor store. She'd heard Canadian beer was stronger.

But she was not a weaker person. She was Sarah-fucking-Williams, destroyer of goblin cities and smasher of Goblin King egos, and she was going to get her brother back.

She winced.

…Again.

"What else did you do with me while I was here?"

Jareth pinched his brow and slunk lower in his throne. The boy had not stopped asking questions since their inauspicious return.

"Let's see… I threw you very high up in the air several times," he sighed, but only after the incessant tugging on his sleeve had resumed.

It was the wrong Williams sibling, tugging on the wrong body part, he mused just as sourly. His entire carefully crafted plan had quite gone to shit in a matter of minutes. Why had he not gagged the boy? And was it too late?

"Bet I liked that."

"Giggled like a veritable goblin babe."

"And you kept catching me?"

Another sigh. "Unfortunately."

To his credit the real Toby was far less annoying than the Not-Toby one, but only because he seemed less intent on filling his pockets with caterpillars. Jareth flicked another one off the arm of his throne and watched as it sailed out the window to its likely demise. Lucky bastard.

"And then Sarah won me back?" There was a note of awe in the boy's voice.

Jareth drummed his fingers. "Evidently." They stopped. "Are you sure you don't miss her yet? Hmm? She cares for you a great deal."

"How did she win me back though? Did she fight you? Like in a duel? Like in the Princess Bride?"

Jareth snorted, though the latter reference meant nothing to him.

"Then how?" Toby pressed. "Did she beat you at chess? She's very good at chess and cards. And she doesn't flip the board like she does in Risk." Toby's eyes fixed on the leather crop. "Oh! Was it a horse race? Because I see you have a riding crop and—"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

Toby nodded. "A lot actually. I sometimes get in trouble for not talking. Teachers, my mom… sometimes even Sarah. But I just haven't had a lot to say." His blue eyes flickered back up to the king. "Until now."

Jareth felt a disturbing pang of uncharacteristic generosity. "She solved my Labyrinth before the clock ran out and won you back." He left out the stealing time bit, cleaners, and his final supplication to her. He wasn't sure they cast him in the best light.

"But she wished me away in the first place," Toby added thoughtfully.

"An inclination I am beginning to fully appreciate and more-so forgive."

"Oh." Toby chewed his lip.

Jareth wondered if it was be a family trait.

"Am I annoying you?"

He stared down at the boy earnestly. "Very much so."

To his surprise, Toby simply nodded again at his unfettered honesty and then shocked him further by even smiling.

"Thank you. Adults never tell the truth. They hide their true feelings and think they are doing us favours. They never are, though. Not really." Toby beamed. "We are going to get along very well."

Recovering, Jareth leaned in closer. "And just how long do you anticipate we will be getting along? A day? A week?"

Toby looked momentarily pensive and then shrugged with the innocence of a child. "Forever, I guess."

"Ah," Jareth replied wryly, "so, not long at all then."

"Why?" Cheryl screeched, as a glob of pre-chewed hotdog slid down her face to drop to the floor. "Why? Why are they all eating like this?!"

The mess hall looked like a bomb had gone off. A bomb made from condiments, nondescript bodily fluids of dubious origins, and a healthy dollop of leaders' tears. Chris, who was so normally jovial that she wasn't sure even the apocalypse would even faze him, was rocking back and forth on the floor in the corner, mumbling something about the wood shed.

Goblins, as a species, were generally voracious by nature. They consider eating akin to breathing. Their natural inclination was to always chew, and it often started as early as in the womb. Which may explain why most goblins were only children, and why their mothers were never particularly fond of them to begin with.

What they chewed, however, was relative to whatever was before them, and they were not very discerning in that regard. They had their favourites of course, as most creatures do, but if the adage 'any port in a storm' was true, so too was the one that said, 'anything's food if it fits in your mouth.'

Hot dogs were something else altogether though.

A new taste sensation for which there could be no goblin parallel. And better still, they seemed to satisfy all the goblins' four preferred food groups: pig snouts, chicken anuses, unidentified intestinal tracts, and the fan-favourite, 'surprise me'.

When Ernie had come out of the swinging doors with the giant pot of sickly, grey, boiled hotdogs, expecting the usual groans and spontaneous bouts of vegetarianism from the brats, utter pandemonium had resulted instead. The goblins could simply not get enough. If they weren't shoving the wieners down their gobs, they were chugging the remaining hotdog water and fighting one another for the honour.

Far from being chuffed to see his food so uncharacteristically well-received, Ernie was having flashbacks to when he'd mistakenly watched a nature documentary on the Amazon river thinking it had been the hockey game. Then he hadn't been able to find the remote when he'd realized it wasn't. A shoal of piranhas had gotten the jump on an unlucky capybara. The ensuing feeding frenzy had been far less vicious and far better mattered than he was happening in his mess hall. Surely, even that David Attenborough fellow would have been too frightened to narrate what Ernie was seeing before his very eyes.

Ernie threw down the final vat of hotdogs, narrowly escaping having his thumb bitten off by a particularly enthusiastic and particularly ugly camper. He ran back into the kitchen, shut and locked the galley doors, and secured himself in the walk-in freezer with a pack of smokes and a 6-pack of lukewarm beer he always kept hidden in the grease traps.

Out in the dining area Sarah ducked a flying missile of mustard. Cheryl was not so fortunate and it exploded in spectacular fashion all over her face. There was no sign of Fred, not that she particularly cared. Doug was not present either, having either wisely kept his distance or had already been eaten in the fray.

Pulling the old tine whistle from inside her shirt, she blew it loudly. And then again a second time in quick succession. "That's enough! Lunch is over!"

Whether they recognized the unmistakable current of authority on in her voice (one not so unlike their king's) or it was simply the fact that the hotdogs had finally run out, either way they hushed and turned in expectantly.

"We are going on a hike." She paused, eying the bedraggled and shell-shocked leaders and feeling an uncharacteristic bout of pity. "A very long one."

Normally this would have been met with groans from many of the campers. But to goblins, a hike was an unknown entity. It could mean something bad… or it could mean more of the grey chewy things. They were willing to take their chances on the latter. Sarah got them all organized and down the steps, ready for a hike, in less than 10 minutes.

She hoped goblins were like children, and that tiring them out would make them far more manageable. It would also give her time to formulate a plan to get Toby back without worrying about the camp burning down in the meantime.

Surely Toby would tire of the mercurial king before long anyway and come to his senses.

A goblin Sarah thought might be one of hers, fell into step beside her as they trudged along the trail into the deeper thatch of forest beyond.

"Let me ask you something, er… remind me. Were you 'Give' or 'Up' on the list?"

"'Now'. But I changed my name," the goblin replied in a deep baritone.

"Oh?"

"Yes, call me Aurora Anastasia. Has a nice ring to it."

Sarah's brow furrowed. "Um… yes, very nice—"

"I'm Lord Chad Blakely the third," squeaked another, in an impossibly high-pitched voice.

"And you may call me…" The ugliest goblin, paused and seemed to be waiting for a drum roll that did not come. "…Whisker Biscuit!" he finally roared dramatically.

Sarah recognized him as having been the one called 'Sarah'.

He held aloft the now well-fanned, much battered, and still dripping Harlequin paperback that had met its end off the dock. One of the goblins must have retrieved it.

"I got to choose first because I crammed the most wieners into me maw at lunch."

Sarah blinked, trying very hard not to laugh at the sheer absurdity and failing. "Do you even know what a whisker bisc… you know what? Never mind. Whisker Biscuit it is. Make sure you tell your king your new name when next you see him."

Whisker Biscuit beamed.

"Yes, well anyway… what I wanted to ask was how you like the king."

Whisker Biscuit scratched his head. "Like?"

"Like. As in do you like living in his kingdom? Following his orders?"

To a goblin, this was an unthinkable question and one for which they had no frame of reference. One did not "like" the Goblin King. Respected him – without a doubt. Adored him – unabashedly. Feared him - most assuredly. Any of those options were completely acceptable… but like him? A most preposterous question.

When she continued to receive nothing but confused stares, Sarah paused the hike. "Are you not even allowed to have an opinion of him then? Whether you like him or not? Do you understand what like even it?"

"We like wieners," Whisker Biscuit said tentatively. The rest of the goblins nodded immediately.

"Right," Sarah nodded. "So, then you understand that you like the taste of the hotdogs and—"

"Ah! So, you want to know if we like the taste of the Goblin King?" Aurora asked eagerly. "Why? Do you like the taste of the Goblin King?"

Sarah sputtered on the water she'd just taken a mouthful of. "Wha… Absolutely not!"

"Oh. What does he taste like then?"

Sarah felt herself reddening in a way that had nothing to do with the sunburn blistering its way down her nose. "I have absolutely NO idea."

"But you would like to know what he tastes like," Whisker Biscuit nodded sagely. "That's why you are asking us? I will be sure to relay that message to his majesty."

"DO NOT DO THAT!" Sarah took a calming breath. "I just… I just need to understand why Toby would want to live there." Her voice trembled tellingly. "What's the appeal."

To her surprise, Lord Chad Blakely the third gave her an impromptu hug. Which would have been strangely comforting had he not just rolled in a patch of poison ivy, Sarah would unfortunately discover later. Even the other goblins seemed to be directing her sympathetic looks.

"The king was disappointed too when you did not choose him," nodded Aurora.

"Oh…" Sarah mouthed, disentangling herself from the hug. "Yes, well anyway." She wiped at her face. Yet another mistake she would discover much too late. "He won't… hurt any of them though? The kids I mean? To get back at me?"

The goblins eyed one another. "Hurt… children?" It was yet another preposterous question. The king was many things but cruel to children was not one of them. In fact, he never even kicked a goblin until he or she came of age on their 150th birthday. It was in fact a hallowed rite of passage. All the goblin's relatives were invited and watched with pride as their king gave the luck tyke his or her first ceremonious boot to the rump, marking them as an adult. Casks of goblin ale were cracked and there was live music and dancing long into the night.

Sarah took their stunned silence as confirmation of her inexplicable faith that he would not. It was small consolation, she found.

To the goblins' disappointment, there was no hotdog nirvana waiting for them at the end of the hike, but several did whistle in appreciation at the view of the end. They had come to the old voyageur cabin that sat perched on a small cliff over the lake, and the tree line broke to show the sweeping valley and the still indigo waters below.

For a moment there was nothing more than the reverent silence that usually accompanies a breathtaking view. It was broken, however, by a hearty scream when one of the goblins was summarily pushed over the side.

Sarah turned back to the assembled group in stunned horror.

"We just wanted to see how far down it was." Whisker Biscuit peered down. "Yep. It's far."

A faint voice called up. "I'm okay! Again!"

Luckily for Sarah – and more so for goblins – they are also a particularly resilient species with a unique make-up that enable them to bounce.

When they all arrived safely back to the camp, after a very lengthy lecture on not throwing people over cliffs and after they'd retrieved the tester goblin, Sarah was pleased to see that she had tired them out to some degree. Aside from a few moderately nibbled upon but still intact squirrels, they were all relatively unscathed.

The other leaders had rallied in her absence, and though many of them were horrified to see Sarah arrive back with all the campers in tow — hoping as they had that the lot of them would have been eaten by bears, or even a particularly ravenous raccoon — they were at least thankful a more manageable crew.

Dinner, as a result, was a much more civilized affair, at least as far as goblins go. Fewer tables were chewed upon and Ernie's supper of spaghetti and meatballs was devoured heartily but did not provoke feelings of abject horror to the old cook. The 6 pack had helped too.

A group campfire had been organized afterwards and it soon became clear that goblins were naturally musically-inclined creatures, and easily entertained by the simple songs Sarah and the other scout leaders taught them. They in turn, shared some of their own. A favourite one being:

Oh, it's Agnes the junk lady,
The dame we all love,
The pride of the junkyard,
She's tight as a glove.

She's dirty, she's vulgar, she spits in the street,
And whenever you see her, she's always in heat.
She'll dance for a dollar, and naked for more,
She's hairy all over; her breasts sweep the floor.

One day in the Labyrinth, no pants on her quim,
A rattlesnake saw her and flung himself in,
Now Agnes, our Agnes, gives goblins the frights,
With the only vagina that rattles and bites!

Sarah was reluctant to ask whether bawdy tune was true or not.

When she announced it was time to roast marshmallows and had doled them out, she overheard the one nearest to her proclaim his, "Your mother's so ugly, her portraits hang themselves."

A quick clarification later and the goblins were happily gobbling smores. If it weren't for Toby and her continued lack of a plan on that front, Sarah might have considered that she'd somehow achieved the impossible in one day. That of course, did not mean they wouldn't be as unruly as ever by the next morning, but she managed to wrangle them into their cabins — the ones that hadn't been chewed beyond repair at least — without further incident.

Physically and mentally exhausted, she excused herself with her toiletry kit.

Jareth had finally extracted himself from the incessant drone of questions by encouraging Toby to go and explore the Labyrinth more, only to come face to face with the Not-Toby doppelgänger a distressingly short time later.

The boy in question was looking characteristically mulish, his expression pinched and as thoroughly unimpressed as ever. He was also decidedly dirty and smelling equally ripe.

"Morrigan's Tits, boy!" Jareth took a hasty step away. "Go and take a bath immediately. You are covered in filth."

Simon stared back. "So? Filth can't be dirty because dirt can't get dirty, so logically it must be cleanest thing in the world. Since I am covered in it, I must therefore be clean. It's science."

"It's absurd," Jareth replied thinly.

"What's absurd is your hair." The boy fell into step beside him. "There's nothing fun to do at this stupid camp."

The Goblin King glanced down impatiently. "Notwithstanding that this is still NOT a camp, what would a sullen little boy like you even consider 'fun'?"

"Dunno," Simon shrugged. "Setting things on fire is always fun."

"And Sarah lets you do this?" Jareth raised a brow.

Simon shifted his weight tellingly. "Let's is an interesting word, actually—"

"Mmm. That's what I thought. Surely you should be asleep by now." He wasn't sure when children slept or where they were sleeping exactly. Nor did he want to know. He had guards for that of minutiae. He looked down again. "Go away."

Simon looked surprised by the order. "Why?"

"Because I have had a surfeit of unwashed children hanging off me today, and frankly speaking? You are a particularly annoying little snot, Not-Toby."

"It's Simon," he sniffed, though he didn't look particularly upset by the preceding insult. "And Sarah never says that sort of thing to me."

"Not aloud. I assure you she thinks it."

Simon couldn't help but agree.

When Jareth appeared in the camp clearing a short while, his mood still sour, it was fully dark. The sky was a canopy of stars and a moon so bright and full, it lent everything a silvery glow. It was strangely quiet — a stark contrast to the chaos of the morning. His brow furrowed, wondering for a moment if Sarah had perhaps drowned his goblins… but the lake was still; the mournful call of some type of bird echoing across its surface.

That and the sound of running water.

His eyes honed with a hunter's precision on a small cube like structure not far from the water's edge. It seemed to be some type of crude, outdoor shower made of weathered wooden planks. Sarah was standing under the rusted overhead spray, working some type lather through her hair. He could smell notes of lavender mixing with the distinctive scent of coconut he'd come to associate with her carried by the evening breeze.

More interestingly, a faded towel, and some discarded clothes were haphazardly slung over one of the three-quarter length walls, including a swim suit. She'd left the overhead light off, no doubt to bathe in as much privacy as the outdoor accommodations would allow.

As he stalked closer, ready to capitalize on her inability to run away in order to get his way (finally!) in all the mess she'd caused –– something else became readily apparent. And it instantly erased whatever threatening words he'd come to exchange with her.

The shower had clearly been designed with the stature of children in mind… and he could see over the walls.

AN: I managed 4 updates in April/beginning of May, and this makes number 5! If I can get Smug Shot updated next, that's an update to all my WIPs within 2 months! Surely, I must have been replaced with some sort of pod person? Probably helps that I keep going to FB jail.

Summer is just around the corner and I was eager to get an update to this little bit of… whatever this is… out. Thanks for being so patient! I don't know about you guys, but I am stoked camping season is almost here.

Credit: The Agnes song was heavily tweaked from a very old bawdy song called Charlotte the Harlot. I don't know why, but Agnes is my new fave character to cram into my fics!