InsaneJournal

Who: Tristan and Sam Matthews (NPC boy)
What: Teaching kids how to dream
Where: Dreams
When: After this conversation
Warnings: Talk about Emily, the girl killed by Night Terror


Tristan was angry. He was often annoyed, or frustrated, or any number of other things, but this time he was angry. Avoiding people was a daily part of his life - he simply didn’t like them very much. But there was a vast difference between not liking them and going into their dreams to kill them.

He couldn’t do much against Night Terror. He knew that much, at least. He wasn’t able to track down whose dream would be attacked next, and he wasn’t even sure he could do much if he did encounter him again. But all the posturing and talk on the forums grated on him, and he needed to do something.

So he slept.

The real world faded as he slipped into the grey space between dreams, and he tried to focus as much as he could on finding someone young, knowing that children were Night Terror’s favorite victims. He couldn’t pick and choose exactly where he ended up, but he latched on to a passing dream that vibrated with youth and slipped inside.

The dreamer was a young boy, Sam Matthews, not quite eleven, and his entire dream resonated with memories of Emily Collins. She’d sat in front of him in school, and now she was gone. He’d overheard his parents talking about what had happened, and how no one knew how to stop it. People had come to school to talk to everyone about it being okay to be sad, but Sam didn’t want to be sad. He wanted to make sure that the same thing didn’t happen to him too, but no one could tell him how.

The dream was a single room, about the size of Sam’s bedroom, but the walls went up forever until they faded into clouds. And they were covered by framed pictures of Emily, some of them moving, smiling, but others made into awful caricatures of girl and gore. Tristan immediately started to shift them so they all were of her smiling, and even some of her fighting Night Terror, looking heroic and strong and whole.

Sam himself sat in the middle of the room, staring at the pictures even as they changed, but shying away from Tristan when he appeared. “Are you here for me now too?” the boy asked, voice shaking and scared, and Tristan shook his head as he sat down crosslegged on the floor near Sam.

“Nope. I’m not Night Terror.” He could still see the fear on Sam’s face, along with the skepticism.

“Who are you, then?”

Tristan paused to think about it, not having come up with anything to call himself. He searched his mind for something neutral enough, and a memory of Wren sprung to his mind unbidden. Do I get a name to call you? I’ll call you Dream otherwise. He offered the boy a small smile. “You can just call me Dream, okay?” Sam nodded, still wary, and they both returned their attention to the pictures on the walls. It was a long moment before Tristan broke the silence. “Did you know her?”

Again, Sam nodded. “She was in my class. They say she got cut up real bad and they don’t know how to stop it from happening to other kids.” Sam paused, looking at the pictures again, especially the ones of Emily fighting, focusing on the one where she had a giant sword, taking on Night Terror like he was a dragon. Tristan could feel the fear in the dream, and knew he had to do something to get rid of it.

“Can I show you something?” The question came out of the blue, but Sam nodded in response and Tristan smiled again as he snapped his fingers. When the sound faded, Night Terror was standing in the room too, just as real-looking at Tristan could make him from memory. Sam’s eyes went wide, likely at the wicked looking claws, and he leaned away, but Tristan’s hand was on his back, supportive, in an instant. It wasn’t a normal gesture for him in everyday waking life, but the dreams were different, especially with Night Terror prowling through them. “It’s okay. That’s not really him. It just looks like him.” He paused. “But he does look pretty scary, doesn’t he?” Sam nodded as Tristan continued. “He’s just a man, though. He likes to scare people into thinking he’s this monster, but he’s just a man that likes people to be afraid.”

They both looked at the false Night Terror for a bit before Sam whispered. “But. Emily’s dead. That’s... something to be scared of, right?”

Tristan couldn’t lie to Sam, not like this, so he nodded. “Of course dying’s scary. But because he’s just a man, someone’s eventually going to find him and make him stop. And until then... I dunno. He wants us to be afraid of him right? So we should try not to be afraid.” He paused, then smiled at Sam. “And because this is a dream, I bet we could dream something to make him less scary, yeah? Like... I have a sister, and she has these dresses... what if he was wearing one?” The image of Night Terror shimmered a bit, and suddenly he was wearing one of Genny’s dresses, frilly and pink and with a ruffle around the bottom.

It lingered for a moment as Sam laughed and Tristan smiled at him. It faded then and Tristan nudged Sam’s shoulder. “You now. Something silly.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated hard enough for Tristan to feel the dream shifting around them, and suddenly there was a giant floppy hat on Night Terror’s head. Tristan let out a soft laugh and nodded as Sam opened his eyes again and grinned. “Good. Perfect. I’m not scared of him now, are you?” Sam still looked a little wary, but he shook his head.

From outside the dream, Tristan could hear a female voice calling Sam’s name, and nodded to himself. He knew that some parents were waking their children up on a regular basis to try to keep them safe. Before Sam slipped out of the dream, Tristan leaned in. “Tell the other kids, okay? Tell them to try to not be scared. Tell them how.” Sam nodded seriously, eyes wide, and then the dream was falling apart, sending Tristan back into the greyness.

He sighed, hoping that this would work, and focused again to find a young-feeling dream and continue to spread the message.