The Children of Hypnos

*sandman*

Grilled cheese.

The Sandman was stopped four times from the Crossing to Hothram by students, faculty, and staff, all asking why he was spiriting a Styrofoam tray of grilled cheese sandwiches across the quad. He gave a devious smile and told them it was for a secret experiment, and they laughed and said not to blow anything up. He marched on his way, his guard shadowing his steps, a smile pinned to his face by nervous energy and the feeling that at any moment he would have to bare his teeth.

He makes a beeline for the gym. The day students are arriving for their exercise hours; there are few fitness classes for the day students, as it wasn't considered a necessity for the jobs they'd be taking within the Hypnos State. They've heard about him from the night-division students, but his reputation after Fenhalloween hasn't been cleared up. They eye him dubiously as he slides through the hallways, grilled cheese held aloft like a melting golden trophy. A prize, the one happiness in the world, and he its unlikely bearer.

His hands shake. Not from withdrawal, which has passed its worst stages, but from the nerves. They've been fraying for years, and now all these doppelgängers are taking chainsaws to them. He wishes he could sleep. Not like on Fenhalloween, though; he wishes he could sleep the sleep of the young, soft and untroubled, with dreams of bright skies and flying.

A girl rushes out of the gym as the Sandman reaches the door, and the Sandman is so sunk in his thoughts they almost collide. He whips out of the way at the last second, so fast the girl screams and falls into her friends, behind her. The Sandman grabs the grilled cheeses, fingers smashing into the Styrofoam, too startled to apologize. He usually reacts faster. The girl and her friends recognize him and stammer apologies as they rush away, clearly afraid.

He knows it's because of Fenhalloween, but he can't be that frightening, can he? He cleaned up. He's not wearing his armor.

Do they know he's in his Prime? Is that it?

His guard, a dreamhunter a year older than him—her name is Holly—gently touches his shoulder and says, "Take it slow. There's no rush."

He doesn't shy from her touch, but it does send shivers through him. It still feels wrong to allow others to get that close.

He shoulders his way into the gymnasium, easing his fingers out of the ruined Styrofoam tray. The sandwiches are fine.

Just inside the doors, Moxie Vault talks on a phone while she looks up at jerseys displayed on the wall. As soon as he sees her, The Sandman's brain clicks into fight or flight. Moxie wouldn't have come to the gym for no reason, and she probably wouldn't have come alone.

Around the gym, students work in different stations. Running laps. Plyometrics. A game of basketball. Marcia stands beside the folded bleachers, arms crossed, joined by Daniel Temper.

Something fragile makes a frightening noise inside the Sandman when he sees Temper. He doesn't know if it's anger over the past, the present, or the many possible futures. He acknowledges this fragile part of himself, then sets it in the corner of his mind and marches across the room to Marcia's side.

Temper sees him first.

"Long time, no see." Temper extends his drawl because he knows how annoying it is. "Three years? I'm not counting the trial. Too formal." He glances down at the tray. "You know you're supposed to eat your lunch, not crush it, right?"

Marcia turns. Her expression is black until her eyes meet his, and then there's a flash of warning. Get out, it says. Get out before it's too late. She glances down at the grilled cheese, and warning turns to the deep, unnerving sadness that escapes her every time they're together.