A/N: Here's the full summary - Snarky, conceited Sebastian Smythe is "recruited" by the U. S. Government into a project that uses psychics like himself to enter people's dreams and cure them of their nightmares. The scientists running the study are Dr. Kurt Hummel, himself an empath, who's not at all impressed by Sebastian's abilities, and Dr. Jesse St. James, using this project more to further his own ambition than to actually help people. Kurt hopes his research will help soldiers suffering from PTSD overcome their nightmares and so they can better readjust to civilian life, but someone else has an eye on Kurt's project, an interest in using 'dream therapy' for a far more nefarious purpose.

Story includes Will Schuester as the President of the United States, Emma as his wife, their son, Finn, Sebastian Smythe, Jesse St. James, Kurt Hummel, Sue Sylvester, Santana Lopez, Noah Puckerman, Dave Karofsky, Blaine Anderson.

AU, featuring psychics, nightmares, violence, sexual content, implied Sebtana, past!Kurt Hummel/Jesse St. James, Dark!Blaine.

Inspired by the movie "Dreamscape".

Warning - this chapter includes an intense nightmare that involves the possible death of a character.

"Will! Will!"

Her voice is faint, only an echo, but it knocks inside Will's brain like an avalanche because she shouldn't be screaming. She shouldn't even be awake.

And she shouldn't sound scared to death.

"Emma!" Will's blood-shot eyes open wide as he searches for his wife, but that doesn't matter. No matter how wide his eyes, he can't see a thing. He doesn't understand. She was next to him. Right next to him. They were lying in bed asleep seconds ago and they were fine. They were safe. He still feels safe, but she's not. He reaches out a hand to touch her, but she's not there. Where did she go? "Emma! Where are you?"

"Will!"

He hears a stumble, rocks kicked forward, a grunt as Emma almost falls.

"Please, Will! Wait!"

The piercing cry of their infant son - only three months old last Thursday - follows his wife's terrified scream. It shreds through the cortex of Will Schuester's brain, striking into the primal core of him, triggering his instinct to defend and protect. But the world in front of his eyes has turned black, and even as she yells for him, sounding closer, louder, he can't see her.

"Will! Wait!"

"Emma!" Will turns in the direction of her voice, the grim image of a city in ruins becoming clearer as his eyes adjust, coming in to focus bit by bit before him. Then he sees her. She's only a shadow at first, a familiar silhouette in the nearly non-existent light, racing after him. There's a bright white flash and he she's there, her hair shining bright like copper, their son clutched against her chest, swaddled in the blue blanket she spent nine months crocheting. Will sees her face - her eyes frantic, her lips twisted. She's screaming and running, frightened for her life, petrified beyond anything that Will has ever seen.

The white flash leaves behind an orange glow charging at her from the horizon. It's organic in the way it moves, growing, swallowing the skyline, stampeding their way at a phenomenal speed.

"Emma!" Will screams, but with the wave of light comes a terrible roar, and the sound of his voice barely makes it past his lips. "Finn!"

She stumbles again. For an instant, only her toes touch the ground, and the tops of her feet scrape the cement, but she keeps running, bare feet bloodied as they pound the concrete. She holds baby Finn tight to her bosom, fighting the air around her to catch up with her husband - air that's getting hotter and thicker. Above them, the sky has become a terminal void, as if something has extinguished the sun. Ash starts to fall around them like snow, flakes drifting down from nowhere, dissolving on contact with skin. A distinct burning odor accompanies it - chemical, scorching the oxygen Will's breathing, eating it up before it enters his lungs.

"Will!" Emma yells as the gap between them grows. She reaches out a hand, hoping that Will can take it. Her arm shakes, weakened by the lack of breathable air. Her eyes begin to bulge in their sockets, and Will can tell she's already begun to succumb.

From the stillness of the small body in her arms, Finn might have already.

"No!" Will lunges for his wife and son with the strength left in him, determined to get to them, but he can't. He's moving too swiftly backward. He's not running. Why is he pulling away so fast?

He registers voices talking, overlapping, calling him by name, piling up as Emma in her white nightgown becomes a ghost in the cloud of ash. He tries to get up but his body is pinned to the ground. He struggles, seething with anger, willing to fight even when his last breath is gone.

A secondary flash illuminates the void, and fleetingly everything around him becomes visible. He's in a subway car – pitted, rusted, pockmarked walls disintegrating before his eyes. He's lying on the floor inside an open door, the exit surrounded by a swinging metal chain, batting him back from his one path of escape. Regardless of his current predicament, despite the hopelessness of his circumstances, he reaches for Emma and Finn.

There's still a chance, he thinks, tapping into faith. He's always been short on faith, but Emma has faith for both of them. She is his faith, his strength. As long as they're alive, God help me, there has to be a way!

But whoever's holding him refuses to give him the chance to find it.

The hands on his body, effectively flattening him to the ground every time he tries to stand, belong to men and women in black suits - members of the Secret Service. There was a time when Will admired his security detail very much, but not now. Not when they're keeping him from rescuing his family, when they're not lifting a finger to help.

"Let me go!" he growls. He throws punches, kicks his legs, but every time he does another set of hands appears to keep him trapped in place.

"Can't do that, Mr. President," one of the suited people say. Will doesn't know which person; he doesn't see their mouths move. "Our job is to deliver you immediately to the bunker."

"But my wife and son!" Will cries in a panic. "They're part of the evacuation protocol!"

"I'm sorry, sir. There's nothing we can do for them now."

Will stares out the open subway door, at a figure so distant he can't make out her features, can't see her mouth move when she screams or her arm reaching out to him for help. The cloud of fire rushes after her, dissolving buildings and cars in its wake. In a blink, it catches up to her, threatening to engulf her.

"Emma!"

She opens her mouth to call his name one more time, but the wave of flame covers her. Will sees his wife and son as a flare of cinders, and then they're gone.

"No!" he screams, his voice gone, the thunderous cacophony from outside drowning him out. He screams his throat dry, screams himself hoarse. Hands drag him back into the subway car and the metal door slams shut, plunging them into darkness.

"Emma! Emma, no!"

Will shoots up, springing almost to his feet, his mind still bound to the nightmare of the post-apocalyptic city even though the room around him has changed, the walls of the subway car transforming into those of his bedroom. The roar in his ears dulls to the thumpthumpthump of blood rushing to his brain. His body aches, desperate for oxygen, and he realizes he's been holding his breath. He breathes in deep and fast, trying to revive his numb hands and feet. His pajamas, soaked with sweat, stick to him, adding to the terror of being suffocated. His heart, thudding irregularly, pounds hard, his body vibrating with it.

"Will? Will?" A sleepy voice speaks to him. Gentle hands shake him. "Will? Wake up. You're having a nightmare."

"Emma?" Will looks at his wife's face, concerned but whole, not singed, not frightened, very much alive. "Oh, Emma!"

"Will." She puts a hand to his cheek. He grabs it and kisses it, rubbing his lips over her palm, relieved to see her, to touch her. "You look like you've seen a ghost!" she says. "Are you alright?"

Will presses Emma's palm to his cheek and nods. "I am now."

"Will, honey. You're sweating," Emma remarks. "And you were screaming." Emma anxiously places a hand to her husband's chest and her jaw drops. "Your heart is racing! That's dangerous, Will. We should call the doctor."

There's a knock at the door - two short raps followed by a long one – and it opens without Will saying a word. A husky figure in grey slacks, matching vest, and a white button down shirt stands in the doorway, peering in.

"Mr. President," the man says, keeping his eyes to Will's face, showing respect for The First Lady by not looking at her in her nightgown. "I heard you scream. Is everything alright?"

"Yes," Will says, inhaling a breath of calm. "Everything's fine, Sheldon. It was just a nightmare."

"Should we call your physician in, Mr. President?"

Will sees Emma nod her head in agreement, honey-colored eyes pleading with her husband to listen to reason and order his bodyguard to make the call.

Will wants to allay her fears, but he can't be away from her. Not tonight. Not after that.

"No," he says, "I'm fine." He smiles, kissing his wife's hands when she gasps to object.

"Will…" she begs.

"I'm fine," he stresses, turning his attention to the man standing at the door, waiting for an order. "Thank you, Sheldon. I'm sorry if I alarmed you."

"It's okay, Mr. President. No harm done," Sheldon says, pulling the door closed, not thrilled at President Schuester's decision to forgo calling a doctor…again. "Just holler if you need anything."

"I will, Sheldon. Thank you."

The door clicks shut and Sheldon walks down the hall, leaving the President alone to face his wife.

"Please, Will. I really think you should let Sheldon call the doctor."

"I'm fine. I promise. I just need to hold you." He wraps his arms around Emma, pulling her to him, resting his head on her shoulder. "I need to know that you're alright." Will grins. "Then I'm going to go wake up the baby."

"William Schuster!" Emma gasps, punishing him with a shove. "Don't you dare! It's three o'clock in the morning!"

Will grabs one of Emma's hands and kisses it, breathing in the scent of the hand sanitizer that she uses religiously, the antibacterial body cream he bought her for Christmas, and the special organic hypoallergenic baby lotion they order from The Honest Co. in bulk for their baby, Finn.

A baby who is happy and healthy, asleep in his nursery, who will grow big and strong, and may someday become President himself. Or join the Army, or become an actor or a Spanish teacher or the head of a high school Glee club. Whatever he wants. Will wants his son to have the world, and he happens to be in a position to give that to him.

The whole world is looking to him at this pivotal time, not only in his nation's history, but the history of countries across the globe. But if these nightmares he's been having night after night are any indication, he might be on the brink of fucking up – and fucking up royally.

Another World War would be one hell of a fuck up.

A nuclear war – that could mean the end of everything.

He watches his wife's smile fade and Will chuckles, kissing her on the nose, on the cheek, then on the neck. It works and she laughs with him, play fighting to push him away.

Will holds on tight. He feels guilty. His wife has always been too easy to fool.

"You're still not waking up that baby, Will Schuester," Emma scolds, pulling him back into bed. He hovers over her, dropping light kisses on her eyelids as she giggles, looping her arms around his neck.

"Sweetheart, I'm the President of the United States," Will says, closing in on her lips. "Who's going to stop me?"