The Children of Hypnos

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The walk from the back of the room takes three years.

The Sandman doesn't feel well. He hasn't in weeks. The room swims around him, the floor shifts beneath his feet, and he feels constantly as if someone is tickling the back of his neck, though when he turns to look, there's no one there. He wants to throw up. He wants to scrape his skin off. He wants to close his eyes and never wake up. He hates himself. He hates everyone in this room. He hates the Dream for bearing down on him no matter where he is, no matter how much DreamLess courses through his system. It is incessant, calling him back to it, back to his sand, back to his waking water.

This is withdrawal, he tells himself, the only clear thought, quickly swallowed by the tides of this fever in his head.

He stops walking. He thinks he stops walking, but it's hard to tell; the room is still moving around him. It is so hot here. He thinks he sees faces he recognizes in the crowd, but they're gone again, blurred and swept away. His stomach heaves.

Cool, dry hands slide into place along his jaw. The chill of fingers along the base of his skull cuts through the haze in his mind and holds back the sweltering and the blurring for a moment. He still doesn't feel well, but he can think.

"Klaus." Marcia stands in front of him, brown skin and freckles and vibrant hair. She glares. It is the most comforting sight he's seen today. "You can do this."

It's not a statement of belief, but a command. He can—he will—stay lucid long enough to answer their questions. He has to. His life depends on it.

For a moment he thinks he's wearing his armor, and he tries to jerk out of Marcia's hands, but she squeezes gently and says, "There's no poison. I'm fine. Go to the chair."

Then her hands are gone and so is she. He tries to follow, but the chair is in front of him now and he knows he's supposed to be there, instead. At least for now. He can find Marcia after he's done.

His hands are bound in front of him by simple cuffs. They haven't been giving him DreamLess because Lana doesn't want it to affect his recovery, but with the withdrawal he's not sure he could dreamform anything if he wanted to.

He hopes he got past the worst of it. He hopes he has crested the peak now, after two weeks, and everything is already going downhill.

He's fairly certain nothing will ever be downhill again.