Reviews:

Where'sMyPenn: I'm glad, that makes me happyy (also I'm sorry I don't know where your penn is)

Demi Clayton: Thank you, I'm trying but sixth form is very hectic especially at these times!

Anonymous User: Thank you for paying your respects, he will need them

Long chapter for you so I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 17: Nightmares 3

The guardians remained silent, following Sandy without question as he stormed out of the room that Jack was currently lying unconscious in, plagued by nightmares. They had no idea what was happening, but it was clear that Sandy was mad - his cheeks were flushed a dark, angry red, his face bore an expression of pure hatred and he looked like he could quite easily obliterate the whole of the North Pole with a single swish of his hand (which he most likely could, if he really wanted to). You did not want to mess with the Sandman when he was mad: it took a terrible event or occurrence to make him feel even the slightest bit of anger as, by nature, he was a very jolly, easy-going man. But right now, if looks could kill, all of the guardians would be dead without a seconds hesitation.

The Sandman was not just angry, oh no. He was enraged. And Pitch would regret what he had done.

With his mind set on quite terrible, unholy thoughts of what he would do to the Boogeyman when he found him, Sandy rushed out of the Pole, loudly slamming the doors shut behind him as stormed out, leaving behind a trail of golden sand (which looked uncharacteristically deadly - with its darker-than-usual hue and its sharp, jagged edges pointing out in all directions), a few confused yetis and three gobsmacked Guardians.

"Should we follow him?" Tooth asked nervously, not quite sure of what had just happened. None of the others knew what to do, still in shock from the display of outrage from their fellow companion who was usually so calm and collected. North took a quick glance at the large oaken doors of the pole, still reverberating from the impact of the slam.

"...I think Sandy's got this one."

And no one disagreed. With the way things were looking, Pitch would be lucky if he was still able to walk after Sandy was through with him.

The Sun did not shine brightly today, its dull form blocked by thick black clouds. The streets were empty, not a sound to be heard and a cold chill swept through the air, adding to the already gloomy atmosphere. No shadows were lurking, not even in the small cracks and crevices of the dark alleyways. Perhaps the dismal, sombre mood was foreboding of the events about to happen - perhaps it was reflecting the state of mind of the eldest Guardian. Though, perhaps the dark day was simply that - a dark, dreary day. Either way, it fitted the mood perfectly.

The ground seemed to shake with every step the Sandman took, growing louder and increasingly more frequent the closer he got to his destination - a familiar, crooked bed on the outskirts of a small town in Pennsylvania. His look of angered hatred was deepening by the minute, until the expression on his face had morphed completely into one of pure infuriation, seeking revenge. This was most definitely not the side of Sanderson Mansnoozie you wanted to be on.

It did not take him long to reach the desired place and within minutes he was down the entrance to Pitch's lair, the already part-broken bed now completely demolished, left in fragments on the hard earth's surface. Loud cackling echoed throughout the underground fortress, full of malice and pure delight. The shadows on the walls did not quite resemble this attitude, looking pitiful as they wavered in Sandy's wake.

"Well, would you look at that," The Nightmare King's silky, accented voice rang out clear in the space around the golden man, sounding like a deathly lullaby. "It does seem that we have a guest..." The malicious smirk from the owner of the voice was evident, its vile and mocking undertones creeping through. Horses whinnied in the distance, the ominous sound of stomping hooves growing louder and louder, appearing to be coming closer. Sandy stood his ground, not afraid in the slightest.

"An uninvited guest," The voice grew stronger and louder until it sounded like roaring thunder echoing from all corners of the room. Sandy could see now, the shapes of a thousand nightmare horses looming over him threateningly, forming a menacing black cloud, looking ready to demolish him. The sinister voice spoke one last time, loud and clear, its tone grotesque and deriding. "I say we give him a nice warm welcome!"

The giver of dreams silently smirked. This would be fun.

Nightmare after nightmare rained down on him, intent on overpowering him, engulfing his small figure, grinding his bright golden sand to lifeless ash. It was not as easy as they first thought that it would be - with his deadly weapons in his hands, the Sandman eradicated numerous beasts in one go with seemingly no effort. His golden whips cracked deafeningly with every jolt, destroying monsters here and there, lashing out and ensnaring his targets as if they were alive.

With expert precision, he turned and dodged every attack aimed at him, his short stumpy body surprisingly agile while it pounded through the air, flipping and turning skilfully, landing without a sound at the opposite side of the large, black room. Using his new position to his advantage, he beat down on his opponents with a rage brought from hell itself, his whips whistling violently through the air and disintegrating all but one of the evil creatures, leaving the floor covered in fine black sand, now lifeless and completely useless.

Regaining his posture, Sandy stood, wiped some of the remains of the dead nightmares off of him, and stepped forwards, steadily making his way over to the last of the herd. Despite the beast's large size and muscular figure, it stood cowering in the face of the Sandman. Scarily calm, the golden man stopped directly in front of the horse, taking its lower jaw into his small hands. Looking up at the creature with wide eyes, the silent Guardian of Dreams opened his mouth.

And spoke.

"You are not real. You are not true. You are nothing."

With those eleven short words, time seemed to stop, its constant flow suddenly interrupted. His voice was not normal - it sounded not unlike every voice of every child in the world suppressed into one: loud, ominous, pulsating throughout the ears of every living being in the galaxy. It sounded wise and old, burdened with responsibility, haunted by the past and yet eerily calm. All the children in the world instantaneously awoke from their slumber, weird words echoing in their ears that they had not actually heard spoken. The black sand under Sandy's hand began to crumble, the nightmare horse disintegrating and falling softly to the floor in a dark heap.

Sandman knew the price, but he did not care. Power flowed through every fibre of his being as he slowly inhaled, stretching his arms out as if embracing someone, but there was nobody there. Instead, he simply stood, hands outstretched as his destructive energy radiated around the surroundings, bringing the room crumbling down. The ground above them trembled fiercely, yet the elder spirit did not stop. The immense power ebbed off of him like a lifeline, not stopping until everything around him had been completely destroyed, brought to ruin. Bricks, stones, rock, debris, charred metal and ash lay in tremendous piles all around him, smoking vigorously. The only ground that still stood was the slab of rock under his feet and the short pathway to Pitch who could feel the omnipotence radiating off of the smaller spirit and, for perhaps the first time in his entire existence, was truly scared.

Sandy did not feel the need to speak again (the chaos around him was enough of a warning to show the Boogeyman what he was capable of) and Pitch clearly did not need to be told - the message was clear. Slightly trembling, he held his hand out to the shorter man, his long slender fingers cold and dull. Rising off the ground slightly to reach the taller spirits height, the Sandman took the other's outstretched palms into his own.

Within seconds, he could feel the force flowing into him, coming in short, cold, bursts of energy. It was not exactly an unpleasant feeling, but he would not describe it as enjoyable. After a few moments of total silence, the flowing sensation stopped and the Guardian withdrew his small hands, eager to get back to Jack at the North Pole. In one swift motion, the Guardian of Dreams rose steadily into the air, preparing to begin his journey back, but not before casting a quick, unapproving glance at the Nightmare King.

Pitch took in the sight around him -his home, his army, his life's work, gone. Demolished within a matter of minutes by a small man made entirely of gold sand, who didn't even break a sweat. He knew that the elder spirit was powerful, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he would be that powerful. Looking back at Sandy, it went without saying.

Pitch wouldn't be messing with him again.

By the time he had reached the Pole, the small man had fully regained himself - the emotions from his earlier outburst nowhere in sight. He didn't bother to stop and chat with the other Guardians upon his arrival, instead gliding straight past them and heading for Jack's room. He was very quick despite his figure and his fellow comrades had to rush to keep up with him. There was no time for explanations, though.

With no time to waste, he rubbed his palms together and held them carefully over Jack's chest area. The other inhabitants of the room watched in fascination as some sort of blue energy made its way from the golden hands into Jack's body, pulsing with power. Every feature on the winter spirits face immediately relaxed, his death grip on his staff loosened and his breathing became more steady. The blue force soon stopped emitting from Sandy's hands and, almost instantaneously, Jack began to stir.

Large, cerulean orbs blinked open to four worried faces staring down at him. A quick look of confusion washed over his features before he took sight of Bunnymund's (though he would never openly admit it) extremely worried face and, as Jack was, he would take any opportunity to tease the Pooka, and now was no different. Laughing, he stated:

"Aw, Bunny, you do care."

"Ah, the bloody show pony's fine." Bunny scoffed in response, throwing his hands up and turning on his heel, leaving the room. But not before winking at the boy (to show he did, in fact, care). After a slap on the back from North and many frantic questions from Tooth, the other two Guardians left the room, leaving only Jack and Sandy.

Now, Jack wasn't an expert on dreams, but he knew that... whatever that was... was not a normal nightmare, which meant Sandy was most likely responsible for helping him get out. And, judging by the expression on his face, Jack did not want to know what he had to do to achieve that. Still, he was grateful: he was stuck quite literally in a living hell and he didn't know how much longer he would have been able to cope in there.

"Hey, Sandy?" He asked, gaining the golden man's attention and earning a soft nod in response.

"Thank you."

I've sort of left what Pitch did to deserve Sandy's rage up to your imagination - but I was thinking Pitch took a part of Jack's soul, meaning he then had control over that part and could (in a way) bond Jack's soul to himself, which is the blue 'energy' that Sandy gives back to him. But that's my idea, you can imagine it however you'd like.

Also, I tried to incorporate some of the books with Sandy's speaking (and the same words) but I don't know how accurate it is as I've never read them, just a bit of research.