Title: Bring Me to Life

Summary: Jareth is not real and begs Sarah to allow him into her life. Sarah struggles with her conscience. Slightly mature content. Oneshot.


A/N: oh god, someone is going to kill me or at the very least flame me, I just know it. In my defense I wanted to stretch my creative muscles, and I am also sleep deprived.


Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth or the characters in it. This story is not written for profit but is evidence of my love for the movie and for its main characters, Jareth and Sarah. Also the title I am using is from Evanescence, it is a rocking song, and just so you all know, I do not own the title and will not or ever will make any profit from it.



Jareth's face is shown in her mirror but she didn't even give him a cursory glance.

"How long will you ignore me, Sarah?"

"I have more important things to do right now Jareth."

A long hateful moment stretched. She could almost feel his teeth clenching tight together as his thoughts alternated between venomous and dismal. She felt angry herself, at this…situation, they had somehow been subjected to. But it wasn't her fault! Damn it, it wasn't her fault!

It should not have surprised either, this mounting tension; it had been steadily climbing since the Labyrinth. Since their unusual parting.

Jareth watched her, his gaze cold and foreboding and oddly cautious, through the gold tinted mirror frame, into her room, watching the young sinuous muscles move under her shirt as she folded clothes upon her bed. He wanted to undo the little plastic clasp around her hair, and see it cascade down her back…around his hands.

Jareth frowned as an ache took hold of him. It was happening again. As soon as he thought of her…

He leaned forward, resting on the palms of his gloved hands, as if he were resisting the surface of the smooth glass, and was exhausted from the strain. Anger and something else caused his voice to waver.

"Sarah, I beg you…"

He saw her back stiffen, and then after a moment of restraint, saw her put down the last of her folding.

"Dear Jareth," she mocked, turning to face him, "I made you stronger than that. You are supposed to be of much sturdier stuff, above begging." Her eyes were glinting but not with amusement. It was sick, this sarcasm, but oddly appropriate between them. It was, after all, a sick situation.

"I want…I need more than this…" he whispered.

She hated it when he was like this. She could deal with him so much better when he was strong, when he was arrogant. It would have been better if his voice held hate in its smooth timber, but that was never the case. He was incapable of hating her. And Sarah wished she could hate him in return. No, when he was like this - suddenly vulnerable after so long a struggle - she could feel her barriers breaking and that was never a good thing. Not now. Not anymore. It was much easier if they were angry with each other.

"More than a kingdom?" she scoffed. "More than a mystical land?"

He did not rise to the bait.

"I seek a higher purpose."

"I made you ruler, a King!" her voice rose too high, too quickly. The Goblin King's eyes lost the glazed dismal look, and he then remembered where he was, and what they were saying to each other.

"I am neither King nor ruler of myself," he says neatly, tying up their argument with a painful whisper, "Sarah…"

She is shaking. She has to leave. Now.

"I really do not have time for this," she said as she turned her face away from his grimace.


He slams his fists on the glass and they shatter into a web like symmetry. It caused her to gasp. Many faces of him wearily lean against the broken image and softly weep.

Through his tears a flicker of defeated irony swept through him. She heard him say with sick humor, "You see…I am a broken man."

Sarah herself felt like crying.

"Jareth…I never meant for this to happen to you."

And to prove it, she laid her hand upon the broken reflection of his cheek, and he moved his face in to it, as if he could actually touch her. The movement reminded her of a junkie she saw on TV, someone lost and in need of a fix regardless of what there logic told them. It caused her to cringe. She stepped back and took her hand with her.

Dull mismatched eyes open and she saw his desperation. Why did this happen, she wondered? When had it all gone wrong?

"This is your fault…and you do not care…" he said slowly, "you wish to abstain from me, the wreckage of one of your simple daydreams…"

A denial hovered, ready to spill from her lips, but she took another step back proving him right. He was frightening her and she did not understand why.

"I did not know I had this power."

"Sarah…I beg you…let me in….allow me to see you."

Arms folded over her chest and she knew she would have to say it. He was backing her into a corner.

"You are not real Jareth."

Jareth gasped. He fought the pain that seized him. It always happened at that utterance. Jareth was not real, and when Sarah said so, it was as if his body was at war with fundamental truth. As if his body would be ripped away from existence. It only became worse over time.

Suddenly he hated her for doing this to him, causing his skin to feel like it had been cut by a thousand tiny shards, create a sudden throbbing in his head, his muscles to twitch uncontrollably, and nausea to grip him. And somewhere beyond the dizziness he could hear her crying. He does not feel pity for her momentary guilt trip. The pain has given him a focus to hold on to.

Eyes shining and teeth clenched, the snarl frightened her.

"Sarah…do you know what it is like?"

Sarah turned her back to him but he saw her shoulders shaking. He touched the fractured reflection of her. Sarah, beautiful god damn perfect Sarah right there in front of him. He stroked the image of her hair.

Hatred caused the words to pour out, caused him to plunge and twist the knife.

"I was made by your wish to escape reality, your dreams of being a hero…the evil white knight in the end to suffer ignominy and personal heart break. You made me fall in love with you… Do you know what it is like to be in love? I love you Sarah. I have no choice in the matter."

Sarah sobbed; her knees hit the ground as she leaned against her bed. Why did this happen? Why? Why?

"Do you know what I could do?" she asked, her hand clutching the front of her shirt.

They had traded roles once again. It always happened so fast, she never knew how he did it, take control of the emotions and cause her to be the pathetic one.

"Yes. You can make me real. Bring me into your life. We – we could be happy."

"Jareth, stop. I…I am not in love with you!" And her eyes lifted up impossibly when weighed down with so much anguish. She did not want this. She did not like hurting him. Oh god, if only – if only -

"Sarah…I want to live."

At those words, something in her expression changed.

He was prepared for her refusal. She refused him every night. It was a pattern, a hateful, loving pattern, from which neither could escape. He did not expect her eyes to lift up suddenly with resignation. A painful wish danced behind her eyes. She did not want to deny him again, she had no right. Without even being conscious of it, she lifted her hand and with the barest movement released something invisible.

Jareth blinked in surprise. No she couldn't have? Yet another wave of love caused him to magically reappear in her room. He looked back and saw the wrecked mirror, saw the cold stone walls behind its cracks, and realized that no, he was not imagining things; he was looking into his prison. Not from it. Into it!

He turned to face her and saw her face pale and her green eyes widen.

"I didn't - I didn't know I could do that," she whispered, now suddenly very afraid of the man before her.

Heavy lidded eyes under arched brows climbed up her figure and settled on her tense face, and watched a loud swallow ripple down her throat. Her nervous eyes slowly glided down his body.

Hard lines and shadows upon his pale face. A long slender throat. Tall and lean, with strong looking arms. And that expression…like he wants to - No stop thinking about him that way!

A tinge of color appeared over her cheeks and something in her shuttered off before she turned her face away. Seeing her that way caused another wave of magically induced longing to wash over him and he raised his hands up toward her. She felt his gloves touch her face, a taboo gesture, and its leathery smell made her feel nauseous.


You're not real, her mind said. But she doesn't want to hurt him again; he never asked to be made.

For once, it truly was, unfair.

"This is not real," she said instead.

"Make it real," he hissed against her skin, kissing the base of her throat, and then the end of her jaw. "Love me Sarah, make this real."

Love me, fear me, do as I say and I will be your slave, her mind taunted.

Oh how horribly ironic. He did not know but amidst his kisses, his caresses, she was drowning.

I should leave. I should stop this. But deep in her heart, she was selfish; she did not want to go.

She had lied earlier to him…she was in love with him, had been for a long time, and it was torture to know he had no choice in the matter. Jareth, her mind gasped. She felt his warm breath ghost her skin, his long hair brushed over her. The buttons of her collar are undone and he bit her throat. Finally with shaking hands, she placed her arms roughly around him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gasped, her hands clenched his shirt in untidy bunches behind him, as they fell onto the pile of folded laundry. He was not listening; he can not be touched even as he touched her. He does not feel her sorrow, her struggle between desire and logic. The magic has drugged him. Maybe it has drugged her. And behind that smoldering haze in his lupine like eyes, she wished she could see him, mirthful, arrogant, and sly, anything as evidence that behind the lust, there was a man. A friend.

Warmth seeped her panties. His hands ripped apart her shirt and the heat of his body warmed her skin, only to be cooled by the dark material of his gloves and his breathy exhalations. He kissed the tears that constantly spilled from the sides of her tightly clenched eyes and then bruised her young lips.

When she cried out from his ministrations and saw the look of triumph grace his hard face, Sarah Williams felt her shame.

He fell asleep with his arms wrapped around her body.

Later that night, she gently pulled herself from his embrace and quietly stepped to her mirror. The cracks and breaks were still there but instead of seeing into Jareth's world, all that was reflected was her room and her many blank faces.

Once upon a time… she thought ruefully.

She stared at herself for a while and understood how Jareth felt not too long ago, trapped by passion, a need to be with each other. Warm hands touched and then rested on her shoulders. She felt his long hair, the color of moonlight, fall against her arm as he leaned in and kissed the side of her neck.

It was too much… what she wanted… she felt herself letting go. And that fine line she had agonized over drifted away like a sigh. A giddy feeling filled her, making her feel drunk and careless.

Her eyes closed and she allowed herself to seek solace in his touch. This is wrong, so wrong she told herself.

"Come back to bed," the silky voice ordered.

Another day, she would think about it some other day… for now…tonight…

Jareth's arm enveloped her…

And made her feel real.