Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thick, gray clouds turned the warm, autumn day gloomy, the mugginess in the air threatening rain. Not that Dean was paying much attention to the weather, what with Rhonda Hurley and Lee Webb vying for his attention.

Leaning against the trunk of a large oak tree in denim jacket and black T, the longer strands of Lee's short, brunette hair cast shadows over his brow and blue-gray eyes as he stared down at Rhonda. She was laying out on the grass, knees bent, head resting on Lee’s denim-clad thigh, and hip pressed into Dean’s legs since he was sitting cross-legged beside them. Her thick, dark-blonde hair was swept back from her brow to lay in silky wave around her oval face, a few strands resting on her slender throat and across her pert breasts. Today she was wearing a sheer mesh top over a maroon spaghetti-strap tank that went well with the dark red lipstick on her plush, round lips. Her denim jeans were practically painted on, hugging her hips low enough that you could see her belly button dimpling her flat stomach.

“Truth.” Rhonda smiled, her pale blue eyes shifting between the two young men beside her. Lee glanced up, his gaze locking on Dean as he raised a brow and grinned. Dean merely shrugged in response, having no clue what sort of question they might ask the girl that wouldn’t also reveal more than he wanted about himself. After all, just last week he and Rhonda had been messing around at her house, in her room, and he learned what color and style panties she preferred--pink satin that hugged things in ways he’d never thought to know so intimately.

“Okay…” the other teen leaned back against the tree, head tilting so he could stare at the thick canopy above them while he thought. “I know! Is it true you made it to third base with Tammy Reynolds during the Spring dance?” Lee finally asked, lips spread wide to flash even, white teeth as he smiled down at her. Rhonda merely giggled prettily and shook her head in response.

“No.” she announced with a playful smile, much to Lee’s disbelief.

“Bullshit! You can’t lie in Truth or Dare, Rhonda.” Lee announced, bouncing his leg so as to make the young woman’s head pop up jarringly.

“I’m not lying!” Rhonda scoffed with another laugh, quickly sitting up and turning so that she fell against Dean. The young man was more than willing to take control of the situation, arms coming up to wrap around the girl and pull her against him with a laugh of his own.

“Oh really?” Dean murmured against her neck as she settled into the pocket of his crossed legs. The vanilla-cherry scent of her quickly filled his nose as he pressed his cheek into her silken hair. “See, I heard it differently.” His lips brushed her soft skin as he spoke, causing the girl to shiver. Dean glanced up to take in Lee, who was still sitting casually against the tree, watching him with heat in his gaze.

“That so, Dean-o?” Lee asked.

“Yeah. Way I heard it, our Rowdy-Rhonda wasn’t even with Tammy that night. She was actually trying to get into Mike Gonzales’ pants and struck out, completely.” The boys shared a laugh while Rhonda simply rolled her eyes.

“Oh, please. Goodie-two-shoes-Mikey wishes he could even make it up to bat with me.” Rhonda scoffed with a half-hearted backward slap to Dean’s chest. “In any case, you're both wrong. Truth is, I was with Tammy that night. We were behind the bleachers sharing, well, a few things, but I had only just rounded second when nasty old Mrs. Jacobs interrupted us. So, no, I did not make it to third base with Tammy Reynolds.”

“Well, there you have it.” Dean grinned.

“Alright, then.” Lee lifted his hands in surrender, then pointed at Rhonda. “Your turn.” Settling back against the tree, Lee let his hands rest casually on his lap while they waited for Rhonda to make her choice.

“Okay, Dean, Truth or Dare?” Rhonda shifted in his lap to look at him over her shoulder as she asked.

“Dare.” Dean boldly announced with a playful grin, figuring her options would have to be relatively tame considering they were at the park where anyone could walk up to them.

“Oh, this could be fun!” Rhonda crowed, suddenly crawling free of Dean to sit on her knees just to the left of both boys. “Hmm…” For a moment the woman’s mischievous gaze settled on Dean, and then glanced around their surroundings. Though they were outside, it was a fairly secluded little section of the park. They were in a little copse of oak and sycamore, just a few yards away from the fountain and nowhere near the playground. There wasn’t anyone in their immediate vicinity, and with the clouds blotting out the sun it was even a bit shadowy beneath the boughs of the large oak beneath which they’d chosen to settle.

Dean shifted in place, uncrossing his legs in preparation for having to stand up and do some inane activity. Rhonda took in the sight of him in his loose jeans, t-shirt, and plaid overshirt, atop which he wore an oversized leather jacket the guy never seemed to go without. As usual, his dark blonde hair was expertly tousled, the front spiked up with a bit of gel. He was currently shifting his gaze back and forth between Rhonda and Lee, just waiting for the axe to fall. The memory of the week before flashed through Rhonda’s mind and suddenly her smile transformed into something truly devious, eyes flashing between the two boys.

“I have just the thing.” Rhonda suddenly announced, eyes sparking with sudden heat. “Dean, I dare you...to kiss Lee.”

“Wait, what?” Dean blinked, a sudden flush overtaking his freckled cheeks as his mouth parted with surprise.

“You heard me. Kiss Lee! And not a silly, brotherly kiss on the cheek, either! I want lips on lips!” Rhonda giggled maniacally at the shocked looks on both men’s faces, her hands clapping with her glee.

“Dude! I’m not gonna kiss Lee…he’s…well, a dude.” Dean shook his head, glancing toward his friend with a clear plea for assistance. For his part Lee merely blinked.

“It’s a Dare! You can’t back out of a dare! In fact, I double dare you…” Rhonda crossed her arms beneath her bust, the smile fading into a soft pout. For a moment none of them moved and Dean found himself once more staring at Lee, their gazes locked. A strange expression crossed the other man's face before he finally smirked and shrugged.

“She’s right, Dean-o. Can’t back out of a Dare; and now she’s upped the ante with a Double. So, unless you want to offer a Truth…” Lee raised a brow and Rhonda’s pout vanished, a dangerous glint shining in her eyes.

“Oh, yes…I know just the question to ask, too…” Rhonda leaned forward, staring pointedly at the young man. Looking at her now, Dean was pretty certain he also knew what question she’d ask, and somehow revealing how much he enjoyed wearing her panties seemed a much higher price to pay in comparison to a quick kiss.

“Alright, alright…fine…you sure you’re okay with this Lee?” Dean asked, trying to ignore the sudden butterflies in his stomach.

“It’s just a kiss. Barely that. Not like we’ll be swapping spit or anything.” Lee offered before pushing himself up from his lounge to cross his legs.

“Ah…right…” Dean muttered, biting at his lower lip for a moment before shifting onto his knees to crawl a little closer. All too quickly the gap was crossed until there was barely a foot of space between them; Dean could feel his heart-rate skyrocket, crashing against his chest and pounding in his ears. He was certain both Rhonda and Lee could hear it, too. Finally, Dean leaned forward and was surprised to see Lee mimic the movement, until there were only inches to spare.

Rhonda watched avidly, hands curled into fists atop her thighs as the two men moved toward each other. Both their faces were flushed, their mouths parted slightly. Then, as Dean’s eyes began to flutter shut and the gap began to close, something huge and white swooped down from above to nearly clock both men in the head. Rhonda screeched and threw herself sideways when the creature soared past her, while Dean pulled back with a gasp and Lee shouted his surprise. The two young men tracked the creature with their eyes, watching as the massive, white bird landed on a nearby branch.

“Is that…an owl?” Dean broke into the silence with disbelief, finally turning back toward Rhonda as she pushed herself up onto hands and hip to stare at the intruder.

“Whatever the hell it is, it scared the every-living-fuck out of me.” she hissed, finally pushing herself the rest of the way into a sitting position. Once settled, she started brushing her long hair back from her face, trying to get some semblance of control over it. Lee and Dean shared a quick glance, then promptly burst into laughter. If it was a little hysterical on Dean’s part, the other two didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s not funny!” Rhonda growled, glaring at the two men. This only seemed to contribute to their hilarity, the laughs getting deeper and more intense in the aftermath.

DONG-DONG-DONG. Bells chimed suddenly into the air, promptly sucking the joy out of Dean’s chest and silencing him as nothing else could. Blanching as he looked toward the large clock across the park, he swiftly got to his feet.

“Fuck! I’m late…” Dean gasped, and thunder growled through the air in response. Turning toward Rhonda and Lee, both of whom were standing to join him, he flashed an apologetic half smile. “I have to go. If I’m not home before my dad….” Just the thought of John making it home to find Sammy alone sent the teen’s heart pounding, once again. As if to emphasize the point, a sharp flash of lightning lit up the clouds and another deep peal of thunder roared above.

“I’ll talk to you later!” Dean didn’t even bother with anything else; just waved his goodbyes and booked it across the park toward home. As he sprinted down the street, cutting through alleys and taking every short-cut he knew, the rain finally made an appearance. It fell in heavy sheets, drenching Dean in seconds and nearly blinding him. Not that it was enough to keep him from seeing the black Impala sitting in the driveway as he approached home.

“Fuck!” he hissed, slowing his momentum when he hit the front steps. The door slammed open as he hit the landing, John’s dark eyes glaring at him from the stoop.

“Where the fuck have you been?” John bellowed, grabbing Dean by the shoulder and pulling him roughly into the house. The door slammed shut as John threw Dean into the ramshackle living room; the teen barely managed to keep his feet as he stumbled toward the couch. Though he wanted to cower, Dean knew better than showing such weakness in front of his father. A quick glance sideways found his younger brother peeking at him from atop the stairs. “I asked you a question!” John’s deep voice roared from behind him, causing Dean to flinch despite himself. Squaring his shoulders, the young man turned to face his father, schooling his features into a blank mask.

“I–” Dean started, but he didn’t get the chance to actually answer John’s question before the man’s fist interrupted him. The punch was only half force, a sure sign the man was already deep into the bottle. Dean took the hit to the side of his head with a practiced shift in movement, allowing most of it to roll off so that he might not even bruise. It still left his ear ringing as he came back up to look into his dad’s blood-shot eyes. “I didn’t mean to lose track of time." Dean quickly responded. "I was just applying to a few jobs for the summer, like we discussed.”

“Is that so.” John hissed while his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Instantly Dean knew he’d misjudged the situation, the look on his father’s flushed face darkening with malice. “Sammy! Get your ass down here!” Knowing better than to keep their father waiting, the younger boy rounded the corner and slumped down the stairs.

Though only thirteen, Sam was already nearing Dean and John’s height; but he certainly didn’t look it when he stopped at the bottom of the steps. Pale and trembling, Sam tried to hide his reddened eyes and flushed face behind his mop of dark hair.

“You stand up straight and look at me when I'm talking, boy!” John shouted, causing Sam to jump in place before he did his best to straighten his shoulders and look at the taller man. “Now, why don’t you tell Dean what you told me when I got home.” John’s tone had shifted into something that almost sounded reasonable, as if they were discussing a ball game or something equally mundane. Sam licked his lips and turned toward Dean, his eyes seeking forgiveness.

“I..uh…said you…you were going to meet up with Lee and…and Rhonda…” Sam stuttered. Thankfully their father chose to ignore the simpering tone. Dean could only glare at his brother, wondering what had possibly possessed the boy to actually tell their father the truth. When he turned back to John, the man's expression held the threat of violence.

“So…why don’t we try this again.” John turned from Sam to Dean, glaring down at him. “Where the fuck have you been? And don’t lie to me again!” The newest shout came with another surprise punch to the side of his head, this one landing with better aim and more force. Dean hissed, head snapping sideways so that an added spike of pain went down his neck. Clenching his teeth to keep from shouting or crying out, Dean quickly straightened back up to face his judge.

“Sammy’s right. I did meet up with my friends, but—” he didn’t get a chance to finish his attempt to add that he also looked for work in their company. Instead, John’s large hand slammed down on his shoulder and squeezed as he pulled him close. Rancid breath thick with whiskey and cigarettes wafted into Dean’s face now that they were inches apart.

“What have I told you about leaving your brother alone?” John’s deep growl sent a shiver down Dean’s spine, but the teen didn’t flinch; he did his best not to show his fear, or how very unfair he thought things were. He was seventeen–would be eighteen in a few short months–and all he wanted was to actually hang out with people his own age. Was that so much to ask? Of course, he knew the answer to that question.

“I-I know, Dad…I’m sorry…It won’t happen, again…” Dean was quick to answer, hoping to appease the rage glowing in John’s eyes.

“Damn right it won’t happen again…” John’s voice was suddenly calm, but the fire in his gaze hadn’t lessened. John pushed him back roughly and Dean had only a brief moment to prepare himself before John’s fist was on him, again. Dean took his beating like the man his father demanded he be, only vaguely aware of Sam bolting back up the stairs to their room.

Dean carefully dabbed at his split lip with a wet cloth and took stock of his appearance in the mirror. As usual, John made sure to keep the majority of his strikes below the neckline, where they would be more easily hidden, but at one point Dean had managed to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood. His ears were still ringing, but, overall, John’s rage had burnt out rather quickly. It wasn’t the worst beating Dean had ever taken, and it was unlikely most of the hits would actually bruise, this time. John had simply been too drunk not to get sloppy with his strikes. When the man had decided Dean had learned his lesson for the night, he simply turned and headed for his bedroom, leaving Dean lying on the floor where he’d finally curled up to stave off the kicks. Those were probably the worst, but he’d managed to take most of them to the forearms and shins rather than his belly–he’d learned quickly how to protect the softer spots on his body from John’s wrath.

“I’ll be back! You stay here and take care of your brother!” The shout–a none-too-gentle reminder and threat–came from the front of the house and was followed by another slamming of the front door. It was Saturday, which meant John was off to play pool or cards, or some other game on which he could make some easy cash while also getting to drown himself in more booze. Dean took a breath, releasing it slowly before hanging the towel he’d used to dry his hair and exiting the bathroom. As Dean headed up the stairs, he took stock of the empty walls that once held numerous photographs of their family. Though his memories were hazy, now, he could still remember a time from Before, when their life was happy and filled with love and laughter. Images of a beautiful blonde with crystal blue eyes filled Dean’s mind, her smile wide and her laugh filling the air like bells. She was gone now, and she took the light and happiness with her.

Shoving his morose thoughts deep down before they could try to escape in the form of tears or some other weakness, Dean headed for the bedroom he shared with his little brother. He slipped into the room quietly, stopping as he closed the door behind him to take stock. It wasn’t a very large room, and it was made smaller by the addition of two twin beds sitting side-by-side with about three feet of space between them. The closet was on the right and contained a small dresser tucked into the far left of it; that belonged to Dean. Sammy had a slightly larger dresser on his side of the room, and a small chest at the foot of his bed. Between the two headboards was a bedside set of drawers; Dean’s was the top.

Shelves took up what space remained on the left side walls, Sam’s meticulously organized with books and a few small figures he’d managed to collect over the years. Meanwhile, Dean’s side was mostly posters of his favorite bands and a small tower of CDs next to an old boombox he’d found in a dumpster a few years back. Though the speakers were shot, and it didn’t pick up any radio stations, the CD player and head-phone jack still worked great, allowing the teen brief moments of escape into the world of rock n’ roll. Sammy was sitting on his bed, nose buried in a small book, when Dean stepped into the room. Now he looked up, eyes wide at the sight of his older brother.

“Dean!” He shifted and though he looked apologetic, and Dean knew the whole situation wasn't really the kid's fault, the older boy couldn’t help the spike of anger that filled him.

“What the fuck, dude?” Dean growled, making Sam flinch.

“I’m sorry…I wasn’t thinking! I was reading this book and Dad came in asking where you were and I just…I just answered…”

“With the truth?” His arms rose on either side of him and flopped back down, expression set in disbelief. “I mean, damnit, Sammy, you couldn’t have lied just this once? What, you couldn’t stand that I actually made some friends this year and you just had to ruin it for me? It’s not enough that I have to watch you every fucking night while Dad gets wasted at some bar…”

“Well, you were the one who was late!” Sam shouted back, his face twisted in a patented scowl Dean had come to call the kid's ‘bitch-face.’ For a moment Dean simply glared at his brother, knowing he was right but not wanting to acknowledge it. Instead, he let the anger fuel him further, the unfairness of the whole situation filling him with a rage about which he didn’t much like to think.

“It shouldn’t fucking matter! I shouldn’t have to babysit a stupid, nerdy kid all the fucking time!” Dean shouted, reaching out to grab the book from Sam’s lap. “What the fuck are you reading that was so important you couldn’t cover for me with Dad, huh?”

It was a small book bound in red with gold calligraphy on the front. The moment he felt the soft binding and took in those familiar colors his heart spasmed and his jaw clamped so tight his teeth squeaked with the pressure. “Labyrinth…” Dean whispered.

Though it was a few decades old, the book was in beautiful shape. The edges were only slightly frayed, the binding a little loose and pages thick with countless readings and re-readings. It had been their mother’s, a favorite of hers from her childhood, and Dean had a few flashes of memory from before Sam was born when his mother would read him passages from the beloved story.

“Where did you get this?” Dean hissed, tears shimmering in his eyes at the sight of it. He hadn’t looked at it in years, but the story was practically memorized in his brain. He’d hidden it in the bottom drawer of his dresser when he was probably Sammy’s age. That memory, unlike those of his mother, was like a crisp, clear-as-crystal video in his brain. He’d found it in an old box of his mother’s things and had been reading it when his father walked in. The moment he’d seen the book, seen his son reading what was essentially a romance novel, he had exploded. Not only was it something John deemed inappropriate for a boy to be reading, but it had belonged to Mary--their mother and the love of John’s life. It was just another reminder of what he’d lost, on top of a deep-seeded fear that his already too ‘pretty’ son was just not man enough. May never be man enough.

“Dean…” Sammy bit his lip, hazel eyes wide in his young, pale face.

“You’ve been messing with my things again!” Dean shouted, clutching the book to him as if Sam might try to take it from him. All he could think was what might have happened if John had seen the book; had seen Sammy reading it. “You’re such a brat, you know that!? You have your own shit you could be playing with, your own damn books, why the fuck did you have to go digging through my things?” Not giving the boy a chance to respond, Dean shoved the book into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

“Did you enjoy reading it? Meet the Goblin King and all his little goblin pals?” He was just ranting, now, not even caring what was coming out of his mouth. “You’re so selfish, Sam! Fuck, you have no idea!” Breathing heavily, Dean finally faltered, glaring at his brother who was glaring at him in return.

“You’re the selfish one Dean!” Sam shouted back, hands balled into fists in his blankets and tears shimmering in his eyes. “I was all alone when dad came home! What if I had lied? He’d know it! He’d know I was lying and you were gone, and then I’m the one he’d be mad at instead of you! If you hadn’t been off playing kissy-face with Rhonda—”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Dean screamed, the memory of just who he’d almost kissed earlier in the day slamming back to the forefront of his mind with Sam’s small tirade. Dean’s fist rose and he took another step forward, but the sudden fear on Sammy’s face and the way he flinched backward stopped Dean in his tracks. Feeling suddenly sick, Dean turned on his heel and headed for the door. He stopped in the doorway, back to the room, and offered a pained laugh.

“Damn, I wish the Goblin King were real…then maybe he could just take you away and my life would be so much better. No bratty, snot-faced baby brother I have to put up with all the time.” He stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. For a moment he stood in the hall, a strange sense of calm passing through him but doing nothing to stave off the anger. “Yeah…I wish the Goblin King would take you away…right now.”

He fully expected some snarky rejoinder from his rather intelligent sibling, but only silence greeted him. Not wanting to argue further, Dean started back down the small hall toward the stairs, only to stop when a particularly loud roar of thunder sounded and the lights went out. For a moment Dean stood at the top of the steps, then a crash came from behind him. Dean rolled his eyes and huffed, turning to head back for their room.

“What the hell was that?” Dean shouted, throwing the door open to peer into the darkness beyond. Night had fallen outside and the storm clouds only added to the thick shadows outside their tiny, rain-slick window. A gust of wind sent the small branches of the aspen outside scratching at the dripping glass like something was trying to get in. Scanning the dark room, it was immediately clear that Sammy was no longer on his bed, but Dean couldn’t find the boy anywhere else, either. “Sammy?” Dean whispered, not even understanding why the urge to remain quiet suddenly filled him.

Someone giggled in response; a high-pitched tittering that didn’t really sound like his brother–but who else could it be? Licking his lips, Dean stepped further into the room, fully intending to look beneath the bed. “Sammy, this isn’t funny.” he muttered, starting to bend, when movement from his own bed caught his eye. Dean quickly turned and he could swear something went crawling off the side of the bed beneath his covers; it seemed much too small to be Sam.

“Seriously, dude, where the fuck are you?” Heart starting to race, the young man dropped to his knees to look under both beds, but the shadows were much too thick to see clearly. Crawling closer to his own bed, a chill ran down his spine as something hissed from the darkness and shifted; glowing eyes appeared beneath the bed and they were too small, too close together, to be Sammy.

“What the fuck…” voice breathy and choked, Dean quickly rose to his feet and backed to the door. His eyes roamed the room, tracking the movement of tiny creatures in the dark. Something flashed across one of Sammy’s shelves, knocking down another figurine, while another shadow crawled up the wall to hover in the corner above his bed. The lid to Sammy’s chest popped open and a dark, furry something popped out and dropped to the floor before scurrying past. When the door slammed behind him Dean jumped and whirled, but when he tried the knob it wouldn’t turn, and the door merely shivered with his attempts to pull it open.

Another crash sounded, making Dean jump and turn, again, his gaze landing on the window as it was roughly shoved open and a white shape came flying into the room. The teen ducked and shoved himself against the door as he took in the massive thing that was now circling the room. A flash of shock coursed through Dean as he realized it was the white owl from the park, then it landed in a swirl of light and shadow between the two beds. Growing and shifting in place, the shadows seemed to transform right before his eyes, coalescing into a thick cocoon before it seemed to burst with the glitter of diamond dust.

While the shimmering motes dissipated, Dean took in the sight of the man that had appeared in place of the shadows. Tall and slender, he stood with gloved hands resting on his hips, head framed with a large, wing-like, upturned collar while a black cloak with iridescent, blue lining fluttered and billowed around him. Quick flashes of lightning illuminated the man in spurts, allowing Dean to envision him like photographs on a slide show. He seemed clad head-to-toe in black leather, an armored doublet hugging his torso before ending snuggly at his hips. More leather in the form of skin-tight pants flowed down his shapely legs to tuck into knee-high, black boots. Warmth spread throughout Dean while his eyes traveled up the long legs, taking in the sizable bulge noticeable even in the sporadic light, before he finally landed on the stranger’s face.

Strong, square jaw and high, prominent cheekbones seemingly dusted with glitter were framed by pale blonde hair that had been teased and styled atop his head in such a way as to remind Dean of a Glam Rock front man. The black kohl lining his pale eyes, which seemed to be two different shades of blue, combined with the white shadow and backswept lines of liner and slanted, thin brows only furthered the rock-god motif. Sexy and mysterious, the stranger stared Dean down with a hint of promise in his intense gaze. It left the teen slack-jawed with awe, unable to stop the less-than-pure thoughts that briefly flashed through his mind. It took him a moment to shove them deep down and focus on what the appearance of this being represented.

“You’re him…” Dean finally managed to speak, voice breathy with a myriad of emotions. The man merely smirked in response, though the smile widened with pride when Dean continued. “You’re the Goblin King. I…I can’t believe it…” For a moment Dean stood speechless, staring at the man that he now knew was Jareth, the Goblin King from his mother’s story.

“Wait…where’s Sammy? Give him back!"

“What’s said is said.” Jareth finally spoke, amusement coloring his deep voice.

“But I didn’t mean it.” Dean quickly responded, daring to take a step toward the King.

“Oh, you didn’t?” Jareth asked, brows rising as if with surprise.

“No...not really. I-I didn’t think it–you–were real.”

“Dean.” Jareth smiled, and crossed the space between them with sure, confident steps. Rooted in place, Dean could only watch as Jareth stopped mere inches from him. The King was a good foot taller than Dean, gazing down upon him with a sense of indulgence, as if humoring the young man. Jareth’s hand came up, and Dean flinched, but the King merely shook his head and gently pressed his fingertips to Dean’s jaw. A thrill rushed through the teen, tingles shivering down his spine and making things low in his body tighten.

“Go back to your room and your bed. Listen to your music…forget about the boy.” Jareth breathed between them. This close he could smell the man’s cologne; something musky and earthy, with a subtle sweetness that reminded him of summer nights beneath the starry sky. Mouth gone dry, the teen swallowed thickly and tried to moisten his lips with a quick flick of his tongue.

“No. I can’t…” Dean finally managed to croak. The thought of just letting his brother disappear went against everything in his heart. Sammy might be annoying, sometimes, but he was still Dean’s brother, and it was his responsibility to take care of him; protect him.

“I brought you a gift.” Jareth suddenly removed his fingers, breaking into Dean’s thoughts. The contact gone, the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding escaped him in a sudden gasp. Green eyes locked on Jareth’s hand as the King twisted it before him, lines of light collecting at the tips of his fingers to form a gleaming orb.

“What is it?” Dean couldn’t help but ask as Jared began spinning the orb atop his hands, twisting it back and forth from one to the other in a dizzying, mesmerizing dance.

“It’s a crystal, nothing more. But, if you hold it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams” Jareth’s smile was devious, gaze never once straying from Dean’s face. “But this is not an ordinary gift for some ordinary man who takes care of an annoying, bratty child.” Silence filled the room for a moment as Jareth continued his hypnotizing display with the crystal.

“Do you want it?” Abruptly, Jareth stopped to hold the crystal out to Dean on the tips of his fingers. For a moment Dean stared at the shimmering sphere and he could almost see shapes moving at the center, beckoning him toward freedom. Then he blinked and the image of his brother, lost and alone in a strange, frightening world, broke through the spell.

“I…I can’t.” Dean shook his head, finally managing to turn away from the taller man so that his back was toward the King and his gift. “Please, where is he?” Dean tried not to think about the pleading note and subtle tremble in his voice; his only focus had to be Sammy and getting him back.

“You know very well where he is.” Jareth responded, shifting on his feet to turn and point to the window behind him. Dean twisted his head to follow Jareth’s movement, but the window and wall were gone and the rainy world beyond had transformed into a windswept expanse of dust and twisted trees. The pale blue-white sky was thick with strange, swirling clouds of gray, blue, and purple. Golden sunlight filtered through the scattered breaks to light up the wide expanse of rock and desert-like terrain. Beyond the sloping grounds stood a thick collection of towering walls, twisting and turning in tight, shadowed lines to create a huge maze. Further in the distance, beyond the maze and rising up a steep hill he could see a sprawling, tight-knit city of stone; and past that, at the distant center, a massive set of spires and towers made up what could only be a castle.

“He’s there, in my castle.” Jareth announced before his gaze once more landed upon Dean. “Do you still want to look for him?”

“That’s the castle beyond the Goblin City…” Dean breathed, awe once more suffusing his senses.

“Turn back, Dean. Turn back before it’s too late…” Jareth announced over the sudden swell of hot wind buffeting them. Dean could only shake his head in response.

“No, I made a promise…”

“What a pity.” Jareth sighed, his head tilting so that he gazed upon the ground as if deeply disappointed. Finally, the Goblin King stepped away from Dean, leaving the teen suddenly cold; it was as if the man had been radiating warmth and now that heat was sucked away with his presence. “It’s further than it looks, and I’m afraid I can’t offer much time.” Jareth’s intense gaze came back up, beseeching.

“Right.” Dean tried to recall the more intricate details of the story he now knew was more fact than fiction. “Thirteen hours…” he muttered to himself before allowing his gaze to land on Jareth. The King dipped his head in acknowledgment.

“Correct. You will have thirteen hours in which to solve the Labyrinth before your little brother becomes one of us, forever. You can still change your mind.”

“Nah…” Dean smirked, projecting a confidence he didn’t quite feel.

“What a pity…” Jareth whispered in response before he started to fade away like a mirage in the heat. Once he disappeared Dean glanced behind him, but, as he expected, the room was gone and only more windswept fields of dust, rock, and scraggly plant life remained. Taking a deep breath, the young man took in the journey ahead of him, again, trying to discern a path through to the center with the current vantage; but even seeing it from the top it was too convoluted to track. He could only hope once down inside the walls he would be able to navigate the maze.

“I’m coming, Sammy. I’ll get you out of this mess. Promise.” Dean whispered into the air, hoping that his brother might somehow hear him.

Chapter Text

Determination and a growing sense of urgency spurred Dean forward, but the steep, rocky terrain made for slow going. He was thankful for his jeans and jacket as he slipped through tall, dry grasses and around thick brambles toward the walls of the Labyrinth. By the time he reached the base of the hill, Dean was gasping for breath and sweating. A glance at his watch proved the trek had already eaten half an hour of his time; what was worse, the compass was spinning at random.

“Damnit.” he muttered to himself, wiping at his brow with the back of his hand before absently running it through his dirty-blond hair. The grounds surrounding the main walls were actually quite lovely, with scattered foliage and tall obelisks decorating the space. However, though the walls were thick with vines and dotted with flowers, there didn’t seem to be any doors along the section he’d approached. Sighing heavily, Dean gazed toward either side of the impressive wall, but nothing seemed to break the scenery for miles; and though sunlight was filtering through the cloud cover, there was no way to discern just where the sun was actually resting in the sky.

Close inspection of the vines proved them too sparse and brittle to try and climb, and there appeared to be no other hand holds in the wall. It seemed Dean would simply have to choose a direction and follow the thick stones until a door appeared; if one ever did. Deciding to keep the wall to his left, the teen continued his journey.

It didn’t take him long to discover the rampart didn’t actually travel in a straight line. Rather, it curved and dipped at random intervals that were impossible to see until you came upon them. He wasn’t sure how the architect managed the feat, but the way it was laid out merely gave the illusion that the bulwark went on for eternity without any significant change. Even the surroundings never shifted save in how the bushes were placed, or how thick a patch of white and pink rose vines might be on any one section of the structure’s façade. The monotony and continued absence of an entrance was beginning to wear on the man.

“You are infuriating.” A deep, resonant voice shattered the silence, startling Dean into an abrupt halt. Visually, Dean could see nothing of what lay ahead except more wall, which meant the mystery voice and the sudden sound of trickling water must be behind another illusory bend. Tip-toeing as quietly as he was able, Dean hugged the wall until it finally started to curve.

“Bah!” Another voice, this one just as gravely but with a thick, almost nasally cadence, sounded through the air. “No one asked you! If it bothers you so much, you can leave.”

“You know very well I can’t.” The first voice responded with what could only be a frustrated sigh. Dean continued to slowly sneak down the wall and soon found himself at a gently, rounded turn. Though the initial curve of the wall had started subtly, once at the apex it dipped drastically inward, revealing what Dean could only describe as a sort of courtyard nestled into the surprisingly large, hidden space. A square fountain took up the center, surrounded by more looming monoliths, and standing on the lip with his back toward Dean was an incredibly short figure with pale white hair and a strange, leather cap atop its head. The figure wore a baggy, dingy, white top beneath a leather vest that seemed to depict a face with its tongue sticking out to curve to the left of the man’s body. A pair of dark, patch-work pants swelled around its short legs and tucked into dirty white socks; small, pointed shoes of some black material–probably more leather–covered the creature’s feet.

At first glance it appeared the humanoid–a dwarf, by Dean’s estimation–was simply staring into the water; but then the trickling sound sputtered and fluctuated, making it clear the dwarf was, in fact, pissing into the fountain. The sight was so surprising Dean couldn’t stop the chuckle that burst from his mouth.

“Oh! Excuse me!” The dwarf jumped in response to Dean’s immature laugh and made a quick motion at his pants–clearly tucking himself away–before turning to stare at Dean. Except his surprise rapidly gave way to what Dean could only describe as annoyance. “Oh, it’s you.” he huffed.

Now that the guy was facing Dean, the young man was able to take in the character’s scraggly appearance. His nose was probably the first thing Dean noticed; large and bulbous, it jutted outward to hang well past his wide mouth. A glowering frown marred what was already an unappealing face, the upper lip so thin as to be nearly non-existent in comparison to the swollen quality of his lower lip.

Numerous, thick wrinkles scrawled across the dwarf’s sagging cheeks, broad forehead, and pale eyes, the latter of which were deeply sunken beneath his thick, brooding and bushy brow. Huge ears extended from the sides of his round, lumpy head and it was difficult to discern if the white tufts of coarse hair were growing out of them or were simply the result of untamed sideburns. Across his barrel chest was a thick baldric upon which hung various pouches, an actual pipe, some skeleton keys, and a bunch of other trinkets Dean couldn't readily identify, including what appeared to be a shriveled hand.

Beyond the dwarf, another figure–this one closer to Dean’s height–had whirled to face them at the teen’s appearance, his expansive cloak twirling dramatically around his slim frame. Where the dwarf was clearly miffed at Dean’s presence, the other man looked more resigned upon seeing him.

The second person was dressed in similar garb as the dwarf, though his clothing, while a bit rumpled, was drastically less shabby. The pale, bleached shirt was loose-fitting with long, billowing sleeves that tapered tightly at his wrists and a deep, v-neck revealing the tanned expanse of his throat and clavicle. A pair of dark blue slacks hugged his muscular legs just enough to offer definition without being as revealing as Jareth’s had been. They were tucked into black, leather boots that were folded down at the shin. The whole ensemble was pulled together with a thick, black belt looped around his slender waist and the tan cloak flowing around him. His broad shoulders were capped with thick, black, feathery pauldrons, which were connected to each other by an intricately woven, blue cord draped across his broad chest. Yet more black feathers decorated the top of the cloak, giving the impression of wings at his back.

“So, it’s true…” The figure spoke, his voice a deep growl that instantly drew Dean’s gaze up to his face. The sight of him enraptured the teen so that he completely forgot to ask what the man meant.

Dean wasn’t sure what he had expected upon hearing that voice the first time, but discovering it belonged to an incredibly handsome man probably shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was. The teen was left entranced by the bluest eyes he had ever seen; like pools of deep sapphire laced with thick, black lashes. They were framed with strong, dark brows and prominent cheekbones that tapered to an angular jaw dusted with a dark five o’clock shadow. Plush, bow-shaped lips were turned in a soft frown above a dimpled chin, his tousled, black hair adding a disheveled allure. Just looking at him Dean couldn’t place his age. Though the stubble might have offered the suggestion that he was older than the teen, there was a softness to his features that implied a youthful countenance.

“Humph.” The dwarf’s sudden, disgruntled scoff tore Dean’s gaze away from the dark-haired angel and back to the shorter man; he promptly turned from Dean and hopped off the lip of the fountain to waddle his way past his companion and toward the nearby wall. There he picked up some sort of long, metallic device in his large hands and began hobbling away from them and toward something hovering nearby.

Dean had been so distracted by the two men he hadn’t even noticed the tiny creatures fluttering through the air around the flowers. As he watched, the dwarf picked up his pace, scuttling up to one of the winged beings to point the device at it and press a plunger, spraying the figure and causing it to fall to the ground.
“Ha! Fifty-seven!” The little man cheered, kicking dust over the downed creature before stomping away. In response the dark-haired man gave a world-weary sigh and dropped his head to shake it with clear annoyance.

“What the hell?” Dean finally moved, jogging past the cloaked figure to approach the tiny creature the dwarf had sprayed. He had thought it was some sort of dragonfly, but as he crouched down to look he couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped him. Rather than an insect, Dean was met with the tiny form of a pretty woman with tapered, prismatic wings. “A fairy.” he breathed, momentarily stunned at the sight of incredibly long limbs and subtle but unmistakable curves. Though she was dressed in some sort of gown reminiscent of an inverted, silvery flower, the petals were so thin and sheer they left nothing to the imagination.

The creature twitched and shivered, perhaps a reaction to whatever substance was in the spray, and Dean moved to pick her up. In doing so her long, silver hair shifted to reveal small, pert breasts beneath the form-fitting gown. Even through the material he could see her nipples were a dark shock of pink against her snow-white skin, pebbled and impossible to ignore as she shifted on his cupped hands. The sight brought a dark blush to Dean's face, sudden heat rushing through him.

“I wouldn’t!” The handsome man had walked up behind him, hissing his warning as Dean scooped the fairy off the ground; but the warning came too late.

“Fuck!” Dean jumped, dropping the fairy back to the ground with his surprise. “She bit me!”

“Ha ha ha!” The dwarf cackled his amusement, stopping to look back at the silly boy. “What did you expect fairies to do?” he announced with heavy scorn before spraying yet another of the creatures with a gleeful shout of, “Fifty-eight!” Dean stared disbelievingly at the little man as this time he promptly stomped on the fairy, her tiny shriek abruptly silenced and replaced with a wet squelch. A violent shudder rushed down Dean's spine and he quickly turned away to focus on his palm, instead. A surprising amount of blood was already pooling in his hand, dripping to the ground.

“I tried to warn you.” the second man offered, his deep rumble loud in Dean’s ear and startling the teen with its closeness. Once again Dean found himself lost in cerulean, the other man’s face so close that their lips nearly brushed when Dean looked up at him. “Here, let me.” Without even waiting for permission, the man took Dean’s hand into both of his so he could examine the bite before giving the injury a feather-light brush with his fingertips. The pain instantly vanished along with the wound and the blood, as if it had never happened. Even more impressive, the soreness from his earlier beating also faded.

“Damn…” Dean whispered, staring at his hand still gently wrapped in the other man’s soft fingers before shifting his gaze back up to his rather pretty face; the tiny smile that crossed his full lips was shy, adding another layer of mystery to the stranger. For several moments their gazes remained locked, the flush still staining Dean’s cheeks and making his freckles somehow darker on his skin.

“Fifty-nine! Heh heh.” came the dwarf’s slightly more distant voice, finally breaking into the intense moment and pulling Dean back to the reason he was even there.
“Shit.” With a reluctance he tried to ignore, Dean pulled his hand free and took a step backward from the cloaked figure. For his part, the other man simply dropped his hands and continued to stare at Dean with abject curiosity. It did nothing to ease the blush warming Dean’s face. Rubbing at the back of his neck, the young man turned his attention to the wall that had been giving him so much trouble.

“I, ah…don’t suppose either of you know how to get in there.” He pointed, causing the taller man to turn around. Dean watched the cloak flutter as he moved, noting that there actually was a second, top layer made entirely of lustrous, black feathers that glimmered with candescent rainbows in the light.

“Into where?” the dwarf called over his shoulder, not even bothering to look back at them.

“Um, the Labyrinth.” Dean answered with a furrowed brow.

“Hmm…maybe.” the dwarf hummed before running up to another fairy and quickly spraying it. “Sixty! Oh-yeah!” Dean tried to ignore the way he danced on her corpse.

“Well, will you tell me?” Dean turned his gaze back to the man still standing beside him, but he was pointedly looking away, tracking the movement of yet more fairies attempting to hide within the flowers. If his expression was any indication, he found the creatures quite fascinating and clearly didn't hold the same animosity as the dwarf seemed to.

“Tell you what?” Once again the snarky man was the one that responded, and of course it wasn't anywhere near helpful. Growling his frustration, Dean closed the distance between himself and the dwarf, moving to stand in front of him and glare down.

“You’re a sadistic asshole, you know that?” Dean grumbled, hands on his hips.

“No I ain’t. I’m Hoggle. Who are you?” The little man promptly stepped around Dean, moving more quickly than the teen expected for the guy’s small legs.

“I’m Dean…Dean Winchester.” was his confused reply.

“That’s what I thought.” Hoggle shrugged.

“So, will you answer me?” Dean finally huffed, deciding to ignore Hoggle's cryptic response as he moved to follow him further down the wall. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the dark-haired man was following a few steps behind, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks.

“If I may…” The as-yet unnamed man caught Dean’s attention. “Maybe if you ask the right questions.” He raised a single brow, then shrugged, gaze moving past Dean to look at Hoggle. Dean stopped, turning so he could take in both infuriating people with disbelief. Raising his hand, the teen pinched the bridge of his nose and dropped his head, trying to stave off a headache.

“Okay.” He sighed heavily before dropping his hand to glance between the two figures. “Where is the door to the Labyrinth?”

“Ah!” Hoggle grinned, flashing uneven, snaggled teeth in his wide mouth. “You gets in there.” Hoggle turned and pointed at the wall right in front of Dean. The teen could have sworn there was only vine covered stone there, before, but now there sat a pair of huge double doors. Intricate patterns were etched into the dark wood, but Dean didn't see anything resembling a knob or other means of opening the entrance. However, that answer came seconds later as the doors opened without any noticeable assistance, slowly revealing a darkened path beyond.

“Of course…” Dean muttered, shifting his gaze back to the cloaked figure. He merely shrugged in response, an almost apologetic smile flashing across his pale lips. “Ah…thanks–” Dean faltered, realizing he still didn’t know the guy's name. “Umm…?”

“Castiel.” he responded, promptly. Dean gave a slow rise and fall of his head, eyebrows shifting up with surprise.

“Thanks...Cas…and, uh…Hogwart.”

“Hoggle!” the smaller man shouted, turning to glare at the youth. Licking his lips, Dean merely nodded, again, before stepping through the doors. When he turned to wave goodbye, the doors began to close with greater speed than they had opened.

“Be careful, Dean. Nothing is what it seems in this place.” Castiel called out to him. Dean's last sight before being enveloped in the shadows of the tall walls was of Castiel, his head tilted to one side, brows furrowed, and an intense, worried look in his blue, blue eyes.

“Alone again…” Dean whispered to himself with a melancholy sigh. However, he didn’t dare dwell on the uncertainty long. Just as always, he pushed the feelings down deep and, instead, focused on the more important task of getting to his brother.

Deja-vue settled over the young man when he turned and found himself faced with two directions, both paths of the corridor seemingly identical and endless. Here the walls glistened with some sort of glittering substance and several sections look pitted and scarred. Tumbled chunks of stone scattered the path, interspersed with more, scraggly plants and what appeared to be thick collections of lichen and other vegetation. Leafless bushes with twisted, tangled branches grew up at random intervals, while more of the strange, vine-like tendrils spread across the cracked walls.

Deciding to continue heading right, Dean began picking his way through the treacherous obstacles along the stone passage. The teen had made it several yards when he noticed movement off to his left, only to discover that what he had taken for bushy patches of flowering lichen were actually some sort of monstrous plants. Mossy, green stalks topped with huge, glistening, blinking eyes twisted and shifted against the wall. Most of them were locked onto Dean, but others seemed to be watching in every other direction, eyeballs swiveling rapidly in their sockets.

“Gross.” Dean declared, brow furrowing and nose wrinkling with disgust. Keeping his gaze locked on the strange, mutant vegetation, the teen continued down the path. All the eyes twisted around with impressive speed to watch him as he moved on. A shiver raced down Dean's spine at the sight and he forced himself to turn back to the path ahead.

Several more yards passed without change and Dean’s frustration mounted. For a moment he actually moved into a slow jog down the path, but stopped after a few feet to look back the way he came; nothing seemed to have changed.

“I thought this was supposed to be a maze; what happened to the turns? The dead ends? It just goes on forever…” he grumbled. Cas’ parting words echoed through his mind, making him frown softly.

“Or maybe it’s a trick of the light, like the walls outside…it has to end at some point. Or turn…or something. It’s a Labyrinth for fuck’s sake.” Determined to find a way out of the never-ending corridor, Dean picked up his pace to a full, loping run, hopping over and around tumbled stone and creepy branches that seemed set on grabbing him and holding him hostage. His staccato steps echoed around him, only adding to the strange, amaranthine atmosphere, and it soon seemed as if he were running from the sound of his own footsteps.

“Come on!” he shouted, his breath beginning to burn in his lungs, heart racing against his ribs in response to the unaccustomed activity. He wasn't lazy by any means, but running wasn't anything near his idea of a good time. A sudden fear that he would be trapped in the unending passage for the rest of his likely short life, his brother forever a prisoner of the Goblin King, fueled Dean to put on more speed; but the scenery continued. Fear and irritation grew, swiftly transforming into rage.

“Fuck!” Dean shouted, stopping to violently slam his fists into the walls on either side of him. He kicked at the loose stones, roaring into the distant sky, then promptly slammed his back into the wall. Again he pounded his fist into the stone beside him, head tilting backward to stare up at the distant tops of the barricades. “This is so stupid!” Fighting back the urge to cry, Dean closed his eyes and tried to focus on calming his breathing.

Silence descended, the air still and cool in the shadows of the Labyrinth, and Dean could feel his heart begin to calm; not that his anxiety fully dissipated. Biting his lip, Dean focused on his goal, trying to dredge up the will to keep going. He couldn’t give up. Sammy was depending on him.

“‘Ello.” a small, squeaky voice shattered the silence, causing Dean’s eyes to snap open and look around. Except there didn’t seem to be anyone nearby.

“Is someone there?” Dean asked, pushing away from the wall to slowly turn in place.

“Down 'ere.” the voice sounded, again, pulling Dean’s gaze toward the ground. Finally, he spotted a pair of gleaming eyes peeking out at him from a nearby crevice in the wall. As he watched, the creature slithered forward and a round, fuzzy head popped free of the small split in the stone. Its skin was a sallow, gray-green color and was interspersed with thick tufts of royal blue fuzz marking segments of the creature’s tubular body. The same blue fuzz adorned its head in three, longer strands that stuck straight into the air. It had a plump face with round cheeks and huge, red eyes.

“Did you…did you say something?” Dean asked, starting to wonder if maybe John had hit him a little too hard and he was actually in some sort of messed up coma dream. After all, who was he kidding? Sexy fairies and homicidal goblins and handsome men with fathomless blue eyes didn’t actually exist.

“Ya…I said ‘ello.” the creature tittered, moving further out of his home, his long body seeming to squish its way past the tight hiding place. “Wha' are ya doin' 'ere, child?”

“I'm not a child." Dean snapped. "I’m trying to get into the Labyrinth.” Morbidly fascinated, Dean watched as the worm continued to push itself free of the wall; he wondered if the creature’s body was as unending as the path he now trod.

“Ah…well, tha’s quite th' task.” The creature inched its way further up the wall, dozens of tiny, furry legs scurrying beneath its bulbous, green and blue body until its large eyes were in line with Dean’s green gaze. It twisted around to stare.

“Perhaps ya sherd rest…come inside, mee' me mate…we'd love ta 'ave ya fer dinner."

"Um…that's nice of you to offer but..I really need to get into the Labyrinth." Dean forced a smile, but a new sense of dread was starting to fill him as he stared into the alien eyes of the worm. Slowly, with an effort to make it seem like an idle movement, Dean backed away from the wall.

"Ah, well, I undastand. 'Afta do watcha 'afta do. There is a way inside roigh' bahind ya." The worm helpfully announced even as its upper body detached from the wall. It swayed in the air, stretching out away from the stone and closer to Dean. He still hadn't seen it fully emerge from the crack, and watching it get longer and longer only increased Dean's uncertainty.

"Th-that, uh…" Dean stuttered, taking much too long to make sense of the worm's words. Once they clicked he turned toward the other wall with shock.

"Wait, you serious?" He asked, eyeing the opposite side with disbelief. "No way…I don't see any doors." He fully expected one to simply appear with the worm’s announcement, like the main entryway had for Hoggle. Of course, this time wouldn't prove so easy.

"Sure am. Is roigh' there in fron' o' ya." Dean jumped sideways at the sudden appearance of the worm's head beside his own. The creature chortled, twisting to follow the teen's movement. While Dean's back had been turned, the creature's middle section had crawled across the ground, its lower portion still squeezed flat in the slit from which it had emerged. Except now there was another set of large, red eyes winking from the wall.

"O' course, no' sure I can le' ya go jus' ye'." The worm trilled, the legs of its upper body waving and twitching. 'Ya mus' be 'ungry…I know I’m…been a whoile since me mate an' I ‘ad a dinner guest."

The creature was rising, again, body swaying back and forth as it went higher and higher into the air; soon it was nearly towering over the young man. Dean slowly backed toward the wall, praying there truly was an opening as the worm suggested.

"I wish I had the time." Dean offered a charming smile, holding his hands up in supplication. "But I already spent too much in this hallway…maybe another day?"

"Nah, nah…Ya see me mate, she'll be real cross wi' me if’n ya don' come inside…" Its red eyes tracked Dean's every movement, and he was positive they were filled with animosity, now. There was no doubt just what this creature and its mate would be eating if Dean were to join them.

Taking a risk, Dean quickly glanced over his shoulder to see the other wall was only inches away; the few seconds of inattention proved disastrous. A blur of movement was the only warning as the worm lunged for Dean, mandibles suddenly protruding from its mouth, opening wide and extending outward to reveal a giant maw filled with thousands of needle-sharp teeth.

"Ah!" Dean screeched and tried to duck out of the way, only to trip over a piece of debris and go flying into the wall. Much to the man's surprise, he actually fell through the wall and into an opening that he could have sworn wasn't there before. The worm snapped over his body as he sprawled onto his back, so close he could feel the air of its passage on his face. It rebounded backward to stare at him and a second worm, this one a sickly mix of green skin and tufted pink fur, joined the first, hissing and clacking its agitation.

"'Old still boy…" This voice was even higher pitched than the first, reminding Dean of nails on a chalkboard. "Ya won' even feel a t'ing."

"Fuck this!" Dean shouted, scrambling as quickly as possible to gain his footing. He just managed to make it to hands and feet when he felt something slam into his back, sending him sprawling, once more. A strange ripping sound came from behind him as his jacket was tugged backward, then the material gave way and Dean was able to crawl sideways into the tunnel behind the wall.

It's amazing how quickly one can move when running–or, in this instance, crawling–for one’s life. Somehow Dean was able to use the wall to stand and he sprinted down the small tunnel, heading for the bright light he could see just ahead. He hoped fervently that the sight of escape wasn't a lie and whooped for joy when he emerged into bright sunlight. He didn't stop running until he reached another wall, at which point he turned to see if the hungry worms were still chasing him. Thankfully, he'd managed to lose them when he passed into the rest of the maze.

“Holy fucking shit." Dean gasped, taking the moment of respite to slide down the wall and sit on the ground. Knees bent and arms resting atop them, Dean tilted his head backward and simply breathed, thanking every deity he didn't truly believe in that he was alive to do so. Though he knew he couldn’t rest long, Dean also wasn’t sure how he was supposed to go on. Nothing in his memories of the story his mother used to read had prepared him for the reality. “Worms weren’t supposed to eat you…they were helpful.” he muttered.

Suddenly remembering the tearing sound he’d heard while attempting to escape the worms, Dean moved to pull off his jacket, only to wince at the ache between his shoulders. Twisting his torso, the muscles moved stiffly and offered a dull throb to which Dean was actually well accustomed. The area felt more bruised than anything else, which made sense considering that creature had struck him with enough force to knock him down.

Working through the pain, Dean finally pulled off his jacket to examine the back. A strange, circular pattern had been punched into the leather where the worm had clearly bit him. It was formed of hundreds of tiny punctures in a series of expanding rings and had two, longer tears on either side of the outermost circle. Some of the tiny holes had torn in small lines, but the worst had come from the larger punctures.

Dean’s hand shook when he pressed it to the leather and ran his fingers over the damage. Turning the jacket, he examined the inside, as well; even the miniscule punctures seemed to have gone clear through not just the leather, but the inner lining. As for the larger perforation, Dean could actually fit a finger through the tears.

“Jesus Christ.” Dean set the jacket on his lap and immediately pulled his overshirt off; it had similar tears, though there were fewer of the tinier teeth marks and they didn’t seem to go through the somewhat thicker cloth. Thankfully, there wasn’t any blood, either. Glancing up to make sure nothing and no one else was around, Dean set the plaid shirt aside and grabbed the top of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head. This time he was happy to see the black cloth was unmarred.

“Dad’s gonna be pissed I ruined the jacket, but at least the layers saved my skin.” Shoving the shirt back over his head, Dean stared down at the rest of his clothes and decided they would still be worth wearing, even torn. Once he was fully dressed, he finally forced himself to his feet and turned to truly take in his surroundings, since he hadn’t been paying all that close attention when he’d been running for his life. He was surprised to find himself in a square cul-de-sac; even the tunnel from which he’d come had apparently vanished so only an empty wall remained.

“Great. Just great.” Dean grumbled. “Though, at least those worms can’t follow me if the tunnel is gone.” Silver linings were all he really had to keep him going, at this point. Taking a breath, Dean turned to stare at his only exit. There was a wide path paved with various sizes of square stones and lined with the same thick, stone walls as the rest of the maze; though these appeared to only be maybe three feet taller than Dean rather than twenty. Pillars topped with pointed spires broke up the monotony of the walls and from where he was standing Dean could see at least one break where a towering arch allowed for a grand entrance into another section of the maze.

“Okay. I can do this.” He moved to the opening in the maze and stopped to assess the halls beyond. Three paths sat before him–not counting the one leading to the dead end behind him–with the two side streets continuing for a short distance before turning abruptly. The path directly in front of him appeared to extend several yards only to meet another wall; it was impossible to tell if it turned, or was another dead end from this distance.

“Think, Dean…” He knew there was no way to get through the maze without somehow marking his way. Though he really didn’t like the idea, Dean decided the easiest, and really his only way, to mark the stone was with his pocket knife; maybe with the end of the bottle opener rather than the blade or one of the tools. Considering his run-in with the murderous worms, there was a good chance Dean would need an actual weapon the further he delved into the Labyrinth so dulling it against all the stone was probably a bad idea.

Pulling out his knife, Dean flicked the bottle opener up and turned to the wall. It took a bit of elbow grease, but he was able to gouge an arrow into the stone pointing to the right–might as well keep up the theme–and promptly headed in that direction. He followed the abrupt turn left and continued down the path until he reached another fork. Each time he had to choose a direction, he’d leave his mark upon any surface that would take it. Sometimes that meant the wall, other times it was a tile on the ground, but he’d always go right in hopes of keeping track of where he was.

He should have known better than to think traversing a magical Labyrinth would be so easy. The moment he came upon another dead end he turned around, intending to head back the way he came. Except, when he reached the spot he knew was once another split, it was to discover the arrow he’d carved into the tile was gone.

“That’s fine…this is why you only took right turns. If you take the left you should make it back the way you came.” Turning words to action, Dean headed down the left path and finally found one of his arrows; except it was pointing straight down to the floor. Even worse, there wasn’t a choice in paths by the arrow.

“I don’t remember that bush being there.” Dean bit his lip, staring at the decorative, potted topiary with mounting dread. Set in a beautiful, fluted pot, the spruce had been expertly trimmed to resemble a cat with four tails and two heads, one paw raised so that sharp branches meant to resemble wicked claws were extended toward Dean. There was no way in hell he’d missed it on his way past the first time.

“It changes. It fucking changes. You knew that!” the teen chastised himself, thinking back to the way the tunnel had simply disappeared. A groan escaped him while he folded up the pocket knife and tucked it back into his jacket; marking his way obviously wasn’t going to work.

“So….what now.” Dean looked back, only to discover that, once again, the Labyrinth had changed and the way he’d come had been replaced with a plane, stone wall. “No, no, no…” Dean rushed the wall, hoping that, perhaps, it was an illusion like the opening he’d tumbled through at the beginning. However, as Dean approached and touched the stone, this notion was quickly dissuaded.

“Damnit!” Dean’s shout came with a solid punch to the stone and he could hear his knuckles crack with the impact. Pain lanced up his hand and into his arm, bringing an inarticulate cry past gritted teeth. Curling his hand into himself, Dean turned away from the wall and fought back the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“That seemed rather foolish, lad.”

“Yeah, and rude! What that wall ever do to you, eh?” Although it seemed two different people were talking, the voices were so similar as to be nearly identical; Dean certainly wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart. Even more confused than before, Dean brought his watering gaze around to stare at the two doors sitting across from him, the creepy cat topiary now resting between the pointed arches. Two, strange creatures stood before the doors, each holding a large, square shield and an impressive lance, though one was dressed in navy and the other in crimson. Their faces were almost wolf-like, with protruding muzzles and thick, white whiskers. They stood hunched behind their shields, massive shoulders and arms making it easy to hold the thick, metal plates which took up nearly their entire frame.

“Where did you come from?” Dean asked, though he truly didn’t expect an answer. The right guard licked his lips, revealing long, sharp teeth in his large maw.

“From where did you come? was his, as expected, unhelpful response. Holding in his sigh, Dean used his uninjured hand to wipe at his eyes before slowly approaching the guards. They were much taller than him, even being hunched over as they were, and they looked rather menacing towering over him. The lances reminded Dean of old medieval movies showcasing jousting knights, starting with wide, bell-like bases to protect the guards’ clawed hands and narrowing to sharp points. Each had a spiral of color traveling the length of the slate-gray shaft, one in blue and the other in red to match the color of the guard that held it.
“I suppose I need to pick a door?” Dean asked, looking between the two guards who merely shrugged in response. “Will you tell me which door leads to the castle at the center of this god-forsaken Labyrinth?”

“You’re going about it all wrong, boy.” a hissing voice entered the conversation and Dean wasn’t even surprised to see one of the heads of the topiary now staring at him. The other was licking its paw with a tongue made from bare branches, tails waving and twirling around each other so that the air was filled with the rustle of leaves. “You can only ask one of them. You should also know, one of these doors leads to the castle, but the other will lead to a slow and painful demise.”

“Careful, though!” the second head came up and snickered. “They’re tricksome guards, Alph and Ralph. One of them is a filthy liar!”

“Yes, yes, but the other may only speak the truth.” The two felines rubbed their heads together, then began to lick each other and purr.

“So…which one tells the truth? Alph or Ralph?” Dean asked and the first head stopped mid-lick, tongue shoved into the foliage of its sibling’s cheek.

“Well I don’t know!” the cat finally huffed.

“Ask them!” the other suggested before both went back to ignoring him. Left with nothing else to do, Dean turned his attention to the two guards. Their dark eyes were staring straight ahead, now, but when Dean cleared his throat they both turned their heads to stare at him.

“Sammy would know exactly how to solve this stupid riddle.” Dean mumbled, then glanced at his watch. Three hours had already passed. He could only hope Sammy was still okay, wherever Jareth was keeping him.

“Right, then…” wracking his brain, Dean finally settled on a question. Rather than bother with learning their names, Dean simply approached the red one. “Are you wearing red?” he asked with a smirk.

“No.” the guard answered and Dean’s grin widened into a triumphant smile.

“It’s really more ruby, wouldn’t you say?” the second guard spoke, his Scottish accent thick.

“Not ruby, either, you little liar.”

“What now? You’re the liar!”

“Am not.”

“Stop it!” Dean shouted and waved his hands to break up the bickering before it could get any worse. “You’re really going to dither over the exact color?” the teen growled, trying to figure out where he went wrong. “How am I supposed to know what specific shade of red Dog-Face is wearing?” he shouted into the sky, knees bending as if he might just drop to the ground with frustration.

“No need for name calling.” one of two guards grumbled, though Dean missed which one.

“Okay, okay…new tactic.” Dean bit his lip and stared at the ground for several moments before he suddenly snapped his uninjured fingers and pointed at the guard on the right.

“Okay, Blue. Would he tell me that this door leads to the castle?”

“Yes he would.”

“Awesome…if you’re telling the truth, then he would be lying about that door; which means the left door leads to the castle and the other door will kill me.” He didn’t much want to consider what ‘slow and gruesome’ might entail, but demise definitely suggested his death.

“Is that your final choice?” the blue guard’s mouth parted and his tongue lolled out as he smiled.

“Yes, I’m sure of it.” Dean approached the left door and the guard shifted sideways and motioned for him to continue. The door was already opening and Dean could see a short hallway on the other side. Not wanting to waste any more of his time, Dean rushed through the door before it could finish creaking on its hinges, only to cry out in surprise when the floor gave way beneath his feet.

Chapter Text

Raucous laughter, shrill screams, and the overwhelming stench of something pungent finally dragged Sam from unconsciousness, but the last thing he had expected to see was a scene from a fantasy novel come to life. His first sight was of a large, iron chandelier set with white candles hanging high above him in the peaked ceiling. A small, bizarre creature with beady, black eyes and huge, fur-tipped ears on a triangular face was hanging from the fixture, cackling wildly. It almost reminded him of a cat, except it was all gray skin and mange stretched over thin bones.

Blinking his surprise, Sam sat up to take in his immediate surroundings, wincing when the action brought with it the discovery of new bruises and an aching head; but he managed to ignore the pain in favor of learning where he was. He found himself in the bottom of a circular pit at the center of a vast room, several more of the unusual creatures gathered round him in the sunken space, though they were paying him no attention. He was sitting on a pile of dirty, tattered cloth that Sam thought might have once been fine, green silk, but was now a faded, stained gray. A lumpy and uncomfortable pillow had been gifted to him, as well, but it was just as filthy as the rest of the flotsam in the hole. Sam repressed a shiver of disgust, trying not to think just what could have left the dark spots and splotches staining the cloth.

Looking beyond the walls of the pit, the youth could see more of the strange gremlins scattered throughout the room, some sitting on or dangling from the stone shelves on the walls, others sprawled on the floor, or passed out in shadowed nooks thick with cobwebs and dust. Though all were humanoid, their features were just as unusual as the first he’d seen. Some had long snouts protruding from their faces, while others had visages that reminded him of clay statues that had been formed and smashed before being cured. Most had pointed ears extending from the sides of their small, round heads and some were furry, while others were covered in thick hide or copious wrinkles of brown and gray skin. Eyes of pitch gleamed wetly from all their faces, either squinted tight or bulged outward like toads so that some appeared skeptical while others seemed to be in a perpetual state of surprise as they surveyed the scenery.

All of them were short in stature, barely coming up to Sam’s knee or–in a few, rare cases–his hip, and were dressed in patchworks of cloth that resemble rags more than clothing. Several were wearing what was clearly meant to be armor, though it was a motley collection of rusted metal that reminded the boy of children borrowing their parents’ pots and pans to play at being knights.

It took Sam longer than he’d like to admit before the realization of where he was struck, though how he’d come to be in the castle of the Goblin King was beyond him. Standing slowly and trying not to draw attention to himself–thankfully the few goblins actually in the pit with him seemed too fixated on something else or their drinking to even notice–he found himself staring at an opening in the wall that was clearly meant to be a window. Turning in place, he examined the room in which he was being held, deciding right away that it wasn’t any sort of dungeon. In fact, he was beginning to think he remembered the description of this place in the book, though the author had done the space way more justice.

One would think the throne room of a castle might be resplendent with expensive trappings–silk tapestries, marvelous paintings, gold and crystal statuettes–but it would seem a Goblin King had little regard for such finery. Not to say that Jareth’s throne room wasn’t grotesquely marvelous in its own way, it just wasn’t at all what Sam might have expected. The stone room was vast and circular with a total of three, large, rounded openings set in the walls in place of windows. A single set of stairs climbing upward through an arching walkway appeared to be the only way in or out of the space, the entryway lit by iron sconces set with more of the thick, white candles. There were shelves on either side of the landing upon which rested a motley collection of unusual items including steel-wrapped wooden barrels, small chests, and darkly stained bones that appeared to have been gnawed on. There were even some skulls, though only a few appeared human, and a few metal figurines that resembled four-legged versions of the goblins now holding court.

The most impressive feature in the room was, of course, the throne. It towered over the room atop a tall dais, accessed by a small set of steps. Wide and round, the back and arms of the throne appeared to be formed from a single, curving piece of bone that curled at the ends; black and gold fabric hung from gold, rope-like clasps set around the bone to drape over the dais in thick folds. Just above the throne was a large set of ram’s horns affixed to the wall, while higher up on that same wall was a large, stone crown that reminded Sam of a Jester’s hat. A vulture stooped atop the crown, crimson eyes glaring around the room. Three, small banners hung at the very top of the wall, but they were so thick with dust Sam couldn’t discern what they depicted.

Jareth–Sam had learned that much from the book before Dean took it back–was currently sitting in his throne, back against one side while one leg was draped over the other. More of his subjects hovered around him, some hanging on the strange, ribbon-like feature in the stone behind the throne, while others sat upon the steps, one of them actually shining the King’s boot where it rested on the top of the dais. Most of them had their strange eyes riveted on their King in adoration, not that he seemed to notice. Jareth’s attention was wholly focused on the small, round crystal resting on the tips of his gloved fingers, his lips set in a soft frown. The King didn’t seem very happy with whatever secrets the orb was revealing.

Seeing the Goblin King sitting above him in the flesh was more of a shock to the boy than the goblins; the whole scene brought home the fact that he really had been kidnapped. The last thing Sam could remember was fighting with Dean, Dean storming out of the room, and then something dark and scratchy being thrown over his head. If Sam had to guess, it had been some sort of large sack. He had a vague recollection of several people jabbering and squabbling around him in a language he did not know, some seemingly trying to hush their fellows while they roughly dragged Sam off the bed despite his kicking and screaming. Then there had been a sharp strike to his head and darkness.

“He’s fallen into the oubliette.” Jareth muttered from his throne, dragging Sam’s gaze back to his striking face. The goblins all sniggered and babbled in response, only to cower when the King raised the riding crop held in his other hand.

“Quiet! He shouldn’t have reached the oubliette! He should have given up by now.” Jareth hissed, glaring at the goblins surrounding him.

“He’ll never give up.” squawked one of the tinier creatures with a spiked pot sitting haphazardly atop its head, pulling the King’s gaze toward it.

“You don’t think so?” Jareth growled.

“If you’re talking about my brother, then I have to agree.” Sam dared to speak up, pulling all the creepy eyes toward him. The silence that descended was eerie, broken only by the loud snores of a portly creature with a huge nose passed out beneath one of the windows.

“So, the child wakes!” Jareth was on his feet and down the steps in seconds, his blue and black cloak swishing around him with the swift movement. Sam tried to back away from the edge of the pit, but the tiny creatures surrounding him were stronger than they appeared and held him in place. As tall as he was for his age, the pit only came up to Sam’s stomach–an easy climb out, really–but even still the Goblin King looked down upon him from where he now crouched. His arms rested on his muscular thighs, hands dangling between his shins so that the stick-like whip rested on the stone floor; Sam had no idea what happened to the orb.

“You think your brother is coming to rescue you?” Jareth’s grin was feral.

“Yes.” Sam whispered, shoulders hunched as he tried to lean away from the man. His father’s voice suddenly echoed through his mind, reminding him to stand up straight and face things like a man. Mustering what courage he could, Sam forced himself to stop cowering. He took a single, half-step forward and straightened his spine, head tilting upward in a defiance he wasn’t sure he could maintain. Jareth was still a few inches taller than him.

“What misplaced faith! Considering it was he who sent you to me in the first place.” Jareth tapped Sam’s head with the end of the crop, like one might pat an amusing pet.

“He didn’t mean it!” Sam argued, hands clenched into fists at his sides. An amused half-smile crossed Jareth’s lips.

“Oh, he meant it…and once he realizes how futile it is to traverse my Labyrinth, all for an ungrateful brat, he’ll give up.”

“No! You’re wrong!” Sam shouted, but he couldn’t stop the stinging tears and the choking hand of doubt closing around his throat.

“Am I?” The smile turned into a dangerous flash of teeth that seemed strangely sharp in the King’s mouth, then he stood up and turned toward the stairs leading from the room. “Castiel!” The sudden shout made Sam flinch. A minute passed, if that, when an echoing clatter of footsteps on the stairs announced the arrival of whomever Jareth had summoned. Surprised at seeing another actual human, Sam was tempted to call out for help, only to falter when the tall figure stopped at the landing and immediately bowed in a courtly fashion Sam had only ever seen in movies.

“Sire?” Castiel glanced up from his obeisance but did not rise until Jareth gave an absent wave in consent. Only then did he step further into the room, sparing barely a glance for the boy standing in the pit.

“Castiel, I have a task for you.” Jareth closed the distance Castiel had left between them so that they were nearly flush, chest-to-chest, and gazed down upon the other man. Sam watched, as if staring at a car wreck, while the Goblin King smiled wickedly at the new arrival. Though his expression remained stoic and attentive, Sam could see the way Castiel’s hands fisted within his cloak and his back straightened, as if he was doing everything in his power to remain standing exactly where he was while Jareth invaded his personal space. Perhaps it was also an effort to gain some confidence by making himself seem taller, though Jareth had several inches of advantage.

“What might that be, my King?” Castiel’s voice was breathless, the bass quality damn-near subsonic with the whisper.

“Our visitor has made it to the oubliette. I want you to go to him and lead him out.”

“You would have me help him?” Castiel’s eyes widened with surprise and Jareth laughed softly in return.

“Only so far as to get him back into the Labyrinth…then, you will lead him back to the beginning.” he explained, clearly pleased with himself.

“I see.” The surprise faded from the Castiel’s eyes, a brief flicker of disappointment shining within them before it was replaced with the cool indifference from before. “As my King wishes it.” Castiel moved to bow, but Jareth’s hand came up to cup his cheek before he could get the chance, thumb brushing tenderly over the other man’s lower lip.

“Castiel. I do hope you’ll refrain from warning the boy. What fun would it be if he knew our tricks, hmmm?” Jareth raised his brows, eyes darkening with threat.

“Of course, Sire. I wouldn’t dream of–”

“Oh, but you would.” Jareth’s hand slipped down the other man’s cheek to circle his slender throat and squeeze. Sam could actually see the skin dimple and whiten with the pressure of the King’s fingertips and Castiel’s eyes widened. “I saw the way you looked at him; so concerned for his wellbeing. Do remember who’s in charge here, Castiel.” Jareth leaned even closer, their lips nearly brushing when he hissed. “Dean is mine to do with as I see fit, just as you are.”

Sam watched while Castiel’s face flushed in response to Jareth’s choke hold, his knees dipping and body trembling either in response to the sudden lack of blood to his brain, or perhaps in renewed terror. Probably both. Shaking hands rose to clutch at the King’s shoulders, mouth parting on a soft gasp.

“Please, Sire…” was his rasping plea, lips shivering and starting to turn blue. If not for the now obvious dread on the younger man’s face and the twisted, pleased menace on Jareth’s, the scene may have seemed almost intimate. Perhaps, in a twisted way, it was.

“I let you keep your pretty face all those, many, many years ago.” Jareth continued, “I could replace it…finish what my Kingdom started when you chose to stay.” Raising the riding crop, Jareth used the tip to trace the line of Castiel’s jaw, trailing down his neck to stop at the hollow of his throat just beneath the King’s hand.

“Th-that won’t be…necessary…Sire.” he managed to wheeze, licking dry lips. “I-I know what is…required of me.” Castiel’s eyelashes started to flutter, the color shifting on his face as cyanosis took hold. Just when Sam thought the young courtier might finally pass out, Jareth released him with an abrupt shove. Somehow Castiel managed to keep his feet when the Goblin King flung him away, though he swayed dangerously in place. Clutching at his throat, tears streaming from his eyes, the frightened man stared up into his adversary’s eyes, still silently pleading for his life.

“I should hope so.” Jareth smirked. “Scurry off.” The King let his hand drop to rest upon his hip while he watched Castiel bow, again, and back out of the room. Clearly afraid to turn his back on the other man until he reached the stairs, Castiel stumbled up the first step with his back still to the exit, but finally whirled and rushed up the rest as quickly as his long legs would allow. As he fled, Jareth burst into gales of laughter; when his goblin subjects didn’t join in, he went silent and glared until they started whooping, roaring, and chittering their own amusement. Jareth grinned, resuming his own guffaws with clear pleasure.

“Why are you doing this?” Sam finally managed to find his voice, shouting his question to be heard over the chittering goblins. Still chuckling softly, Jareth turned to face the boy and let the laughter shift into another toothsome grin.

“Because I can.” was his amused response. The King stepped up to the edge of the pit, again, though this time he didn’t bother crouching. “One way or another I will get what I want.” Shifting to look at this throne, Jareth pointed for Sam’s gaze to follow. Though it hadn’t been there before, a strange black and gold clock now hung in the air, seemingly suspended by magic. Black numbers surrounded by golden filigree counted one through thirteen on the bone white face, the gold hands set at three hours and some number of minutes Sam couldn’t parse with the extra hour on the clock.

“In nine hours and twenty-three minutes, you’ll be mine.”

“No. Dean will rescue me!”

“We will see, boy. Until then, feel free to roam about; get to know your new forever-home.” Jareth waived his hand with this sudden suggestion of freedom, before turning on his heel and heading out of the room. Sam might have been young, but he wasn’t a complete fool. Jareth’s seeming indifference to what Sam did with the next nine hours made it clear the Goblin King felt it highly unlikely the boy could escape.

“Yeah…we’ll see, alright.” Sam muttered while climbing out of the pit. The goblins watched him, their expressions a mix of amusement and curiosity, or so it seemed to Sam. Still, they didn’t try to stop the boy when he headed for the window. Beyond the wide opening was a distant courtyard bordering which stood a towering perimeter wall. Beyond the wall sat the sprawling, winding Goblin City packed tight between the castle and a thick forest of impressive trees. He couldn't even see the Labyrinth that was purported to be beyond the city. Unfortunately, a quick glance down proved the window was an unhelpful route of escape. There was a sheer drop to the next section of the castle--a balcony of some sort--but it was clearly several stories straight down; no way Sam would be able to jump down to it. Another examination of the room, including the various piles of rotting cloth, proved he had nothing long enough or sturdy enough with which to create a rope to attempt climbing down, either. Not to be discouraged, Sam turned his back on the windows, entirely, and headed for the stairs, determined to find his way out of the castle. If he could find Dean, then they could escape this place, together.

Castiel rushed down the halls, navigating the twisting paths and random stairways with an ease brought from decades of exploration. Not once did he look behind him, fear and revulsion maintaining his head-long dash back to his suite of rooms. He could still feel Jareth’s fingers around his throat, a brand against his skin that sparked equal parts fear and arousal, which only deepened the self-loathing he’d lived with since becoming trapped in this place. Why was it after all this time Jareth still affected him so? He never had been able to explain it.

The final set of steps brought him to the wing in which Jareth’s ‘guests’ lived and only then did Castiel slow. Stone walls lined in faded, ancient tapestries and dusty statues lead to a series of doorways, each a different color to represent the soul trapped within. Castiel’s door was at the end of the hall, a sapphire blue meant to match his eyes, or so he’d been told, and marked with a pair of raven’s wings. Across from it was a dark red door with a gold crescent moon surrounded by a circle of golden spheres etched into the upper half.

“So, is it true?” The voice that echoed into the hall was soft and feminine and Castiel turned to see a familiar woman had opened the red door to peek her head out. Thick, red hair framed a pixie-face with high cheekbones, sharp chin, and strong jaw. Long, pointed ears protruding from the sides of her head were the only sign that she was no longer fully human. Her green eyes, once so bright and lively, were dark with concern and uncertainty. Fear. Fear was a constant companion within Jareth’s kingdom.

“I’m afraid so.” Castiel stopped at his door, head bowed against the wood as he let the adrenalin recede. “Jareth has found another innocent, a young man this time. In fact, both his Chosen and the one he kidnapped are male….and neither really appear to be children.”

“Damnit.” The woman shifted in her doorway, moving to lean her back against the frame. As was usually the case when given an option, she wore a dusty-red doublet over an off-white blouse and tan, suede breeches tucked into brown leather boots. The same crescent symbol that graced her door was etched in gold above her heart. The crown that had once been included on that patch had long-since been pulled out, stitch by stitch, at their King’s insistence. No one else could hold a title in his Kingdom, after all.

“Has he given up?” the woman asked, biting her lip as she turned her gaze back to her companion.

“Not yet…but. Charlie, I’m afraid it won’t be long. Jareth is making me take him back to the beginning. I’m sure he’ll have Hoggle spy on me to be sure I follow his orders.”

“What of the bait?” Charlie asked, watching as the man shrugged.

“He seemed…young, but surprisingly determined. I didn’t pay him much attention...you know how He would have reacted.”

“Oh, yes…” a heavy sigh escaped the woman, then, and she pushed herself out of the doorway to cross the hall. When she stopped behind Castiel, she rested a gentle palm upon his shoulder. “Can you do it, again? Watch another soul be claimed by this place?”

“I don’t know, Charlie…Dean is handsome, just Jareth’s type, but he seemed…stubborn, too. I wish there were a way to save him and his brother from our fates.”

“It’s been decades since he last took a consort…maybe this one will be different. Like Sarah.”

“Sarah is a myth!” Castiel growled, spinning on his heel to glare. Charlie took a step back, cowering lightly in the face of the man’s wrath. “We’ve all heard the stories, but no one alive has ever seen any proof that anyone has ever bested our King. We have been here since…I don’t even know how long it’s been, anymore. Years innumerable. Sarah is a story Jareth concocted to spread his influence and seek out potential captives. You know it’s true…no one escapes this place…”

Charlie bit her lip, expression morose as she turned her gaze away. If they could still cry, tears may well have glistened in her heavy gaze; but they’d all given up on tears long ago. Turning her back on Castiel, Charlie returned to her room, door closing with a barely audible click. With the woman out of sight, Castiel felt his anger deflate and his shoulders dipped, head bowing in defeat. He considered going to his room, as was his first instinct, but he had a task to perform. Best not delay any further.

Sam was lost. How could he not be when the halls seemed to change on him at random intervals? It seemed the magic of the Labyrinth existed even at the center, in the castle; or perhaps Jareth was simply using his power to keep Sam from escaping. Perhaps it was a bit of both. At one point he could have sworn an image of the Goblin King had shimmered into appearance high on a wall, but it was gone the second he focused on it. Perhaps it was an illusion to keep the boy on his toes; or a mirage brought on by his over-anxious imagination. Either way, Sam couldn’t rule out that the King was spying on him.

Taking another random turn, Sam was surprised to find himself walking into a large space lined with bars at varying intervals. It seemed he had found a dungeon of sorts. Walking slowly down the center of the room, Sam tried to peer into the shadowed recesses of the stone cells, but they all seemed to be empty beyond the gated entryways.

“Is…is someone there?” A hoarse voice, barely a whisper, caught the boy’s attention from further into the room and he was quick to run toward it. Stopping in front of the last cell on the left, Sam approached the bars in an effort to see past the gloom. Movement rippled through the shadows and suddenly a face appeared in the meager light behind Sam.

“Hey, are you okay?” Sam blinked, taking in the pale skin and dark hair of the young girl knelt on the other side of the bars. Dirt and grime left her long hair lank and the dust on her face was marred with clean streaks down her cheeks, likely the result of tears. She wore a simple dress of black fabric trimmed in red flowers, but it seemed dingy and threadbare.

“I…Are you here to let me out?” the girl whispered hoarsely past her chapped lips.

“Yeah! Yeah I am.” Sam stepped back, examining the gate for any means of opening it and quickly found a dark keyhole like one might see in old movies; it almost looked like a skull in shape. ‘That seems easy enough….’ the boy examined the hole, then knelt to pull a paperclip from his sock, bending the little metal object so he could shove it into the slot.

“Wh-what are you doing?” the girl whimpered, scooting closer to the door to watch Sam work. The boy’s face was scrunched in concentration, the tip of his tongue extended past his teeth while he worked.

“Picking the lock…my brother taught me how.” he answered absently. Scraping and tapping could be heard while he maneuvered the clip this way and that until a loud click announced his success. “Ha!” Sam cheered, pulling on the gate to watch it swing outward with a loud screeching of metal. The girl stared up at him with wide eyes, mouth parted in surprise.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Sam stepped into the cell and crouched before the girl with a reassuring smile. “My name is Sam, what’s yours?”

“Ruby…” the girl whispered, eyes still wide and uncertain.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ruby, though I guess it sort of sucks we’re meeting here.” Licking his lips, the adolescent looked back over his shoulder to see that the cell was still open. When he looked back, Ruby was getting to her feet, brushing dust from her skirt while she straightened it.

“You shouldn’t have picked the lock.” Ruby announced, crossing her arms beneath her budding breasts.

“How else was I supposed to get you out?” Sam’s brow furrowed with confusion and the girl sighed in return.

“I thought you had a key…that His Majesty had sent you to release me from my punishment.”

“You mean, Jareth?”

“Well, of course. Who else would I mean?” Ruby huffed with an eye roll. “Though, you really should show him some respect, otherwise, you might end up in a cell, too.” For a moment the two teens stared at each other, Sam in disbelief and Ruby in annoyance.

“So, you didn’t need rescuing?”

“No.” Ruby licked her dry lips, staring at the open cell with wariness. “I figured His Majesty would send someone to let me out, eventually. He always does, if you ask for forgiveness.”

“What did you do to get locked in a cage?” Sam blurted, feeling thoroughly confused. This girl had been trapped for a long time, if her condition was any indication, but she seemed more upset that he’d tried to save her than the fact that she was imprisoned in the first place.

For a moment the girl met his question with silence, a light flush crossing her pale cheeks as she kicked at some of the scraps littering the floor of her cell. Her dark skirt shuffled around her legs with the movement, then she dropped her arms to smooth out the fabric, again.

“It doesn’t really matter. I broke a rule and was punished accordingly. If I had been more careful and considered the consequences, it wouldn’t have even happened.” the teen’s head had risen as she spoke, chin tilting upward and shoulders shifting back as she straightened her spine. “Truth is, King Jareth is quite pleasant if you know how to keep from pissing him off. He can be incredibly generous with his gifts and time.”

Sam stared at Ruby with clear disbelief, hazel eyes squinting with his brow. From what he’d seen so far, the Goblin King was anything but pleasant. He opened his mouth, intent to express as much, but Ruby shook her head in denial before he could speak.

“Our Lord doesn’t ask for much." she insisted, gaze entreating "Treat him with the respect he deserves, don’t question his authority, and keep him happy. As King, that’s only his due. In return you’ll find the Labyrinth to be better than your wildest dreams.” her voice ended on a soft sigh, expression shifting to one of awe and pleasure.

Biting his lip, Sam decided to keep his peace. The truth was, he only had a few interactions with the King, and one such was watching him with someone else. It’s not like Sam knew anything of the other man–Castiel–or what sort of history he and the King had together. While the interaction had been alarming, to say the least, in comparison to how his dad acted when in his cups it was fairly tame.

“I guess I don’t know much, yet.” Sam finally conceded, which brought a soft smile to Ruby’s lips. The action seemed to light up her whole face, making her dark eyes shine.

“You must be really new…” Ruby offered, once again glancing over Sam’s shoulder to stare beyond the open cell.

“Yeah. I…Well, I guess I’ve only been here a few hours. The goblins kidnapped me…I woke up in some throne room maybe an hour ago.”

“Oh, how wretched! I’m so sorry you had to be brought here like that.”

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t kidnap me.” Sam’s brow was once again furrowed in confusion, but Ruby only frowned softly at him in return. Her expression was almost pitying.

“I guess because I know how it felt to be taken like that…and how it feels to know your own flesh and blood would just send you away.”

“What? I…I wasn’t.”

“Sam, you do realize the goblins only have one reason to come for someone. If they aren’t given the invitation, they can’t even leave this realm. It’s not kidnapping; it’s more like a bargain. If not for the Wish, you would still be home.”

“The…The wish.” Sam bit his lip, not wanting to believe what Ruby was implying, what Jareth had flat-out told him. “No, he…he didn’t mean it.” Sam muttered, the world going blurry as his eyes watered.

“Oh!” Ruby stepped forward to touch a hand to his shoulder. “It’s okay, Sam. I know it’s hard to believe. For me…" For a second she trailed off, sadness suffusing her features. "It was my sister. Lilith. I…I didn’t want to think she’d send me away, either. I loved her so much…but…but I was just a nuisance to her. Just a bratty little sister that she was forced to share all her things with.”

Sam bit his lip, vividly recalling his last altercation with Dean and how similar his angry outburst had been to Ruby’s words. Really, it wasn’t the first time he’d annoyed Dean into saying hurtful things; and it was best not to think about what his dad sometimes said and did when alcohol brought out the rage and heartache festering inside him.

“I guess…” Sam finally muttered in the face of Ruby’s concern, absently wiping at his eyes before the tears had a chance to fall. Boys don’t cry, after all.

“It doesn’t matter.” Ruby was smiling, now, her hand still gently resting on his shoulder, and she stepped even closer into the young man’s space. “Lilith may have thought she was cursing me, but the joke’s on her. The Labyrinth; well, it’s just wonderful, Sam! There are no chores, no responsibilities. You can spend all day reading or lounging in your room; and the parties!” once again Ruby was beaming, eyes rolling up with her last words as if remembering something truly exquisite.

“That…sounds really fun.” Sam couldn’t help but grin in the face of Ruby’s enthusiasm, but he also couldn’t forget where he found her. She was still dirty and rumpled from her stint in the prison. “Though…seems there are rules…” Sam glanced past the shorter girl to look at the dark cells and Ruby frowned.

“Yes, but they’re really not so bad. You’ll see…” Ruby lifted her other hand, fingertips pressing into Sam’s cheek to capture his attention, once again. Sam startled, a flush spreading across his face as he looked down at the girl. “And now that you’re here, I think it’ll be even better.” her smile widened, eyes glinting even as the lids became heavy, thick lashes fluttering delicately against her skin.

“Ye-yeah?” the teen’s voice was a breathy whisper, eyes wide and completely absorbed in the dark brown irises Ruby had locked on him. A hesitant smile crossed his lips when the girl nodded.