I do not own ROTG.

Here is part 2: Sandy

WARNINGS: (brief allusion to) child abuse

The Sandman was no stranger to nightmares. Not long ago he had been a nightmare himself, shot with the Boogeyman's poisonous arrow and transformed into a being that made him shudder to remember it. The Sandman was the bringer of good dreams and the guardian of such. He had much experience with nightmares.

He was making his nightly rounds, nearly six months after Pitch's attack, and was having a wonderful time sending golden tendrils of sand into the happy minds of the little children all around. After the events of the war, Sandy made sure to stop by Burgess, Maine every night to ensure that the children there were still under the safe guard of dreams. MiM knew they might have need of it, after the horrifying things they saw.

So, having created happy dreams for the young Jaime and Sophie Bennet and their friends, Sandy was making his way to Jack's lake- pond more like it, although the boy insisted they call it a lake- to pay his friend a visit. The Guardians made it a point to get together more often following the war, especially since they had a new guardian to train up. Jack Frost was very capable, but he was a child- a three-hundred-year-old child, but a child none the less. If MiM had deemed the other Guardians worthy of such a family member, they would see to it that the boy was brought up good and right. They had already wasted three centuries away; they couldn't waste another minute. In the end, the Guardians agreed- unbeknownst to their youngest member- to meet up more often so as Jack would no longer feel the lonesomeness he was born into.

Sandy floated down to the lake, not yet frozen solid but with a thin sheen of ice covering its surface. Snowfall had started in Burgess, and a light layer of the powdery white fluff- good for snowball making- rested on the ground. Not wanting to ruin Jack's hard work, Sandy floated just above the snow as he drifted in and out of the trees, searching for his young friend.

It was the whimpering that caught his attention.

Sandy darted upward, coming to stop on a branch high up in the thickest tree of the thicket. Huddled up against the trunk, his hoodie disheveled and staff curved tight in a death grip, was a slumbering Jack Frost. The boy's pale face was twisted in pain, his lips quivering as he turned his head back and forth. "N-No..." Jack hissed out, tears coming to his closed eyes. "P-Pippa..." he hissed, curling in tightly on his staff.

Concerned, the Sandman crept forward and looked all around for any sight of Pitch Black. Surely the man wouldn't be back so soon...? Looking back to the winter spirit, Sandy then realized that Jack, despite being asleep and most obviously in discomfort, was not having a nightmare. He was having a memory.

"G-Get away from... from her..." the boy whispered, tears dripping down his cheeks. "D-Da... Da, please..."

Sandy sighed, stroking the boy's hair gently. Jack stiffened at the touch, and Sandy froze, fearing he had awoken the boy. But then, Jack relaxed into the touch, his cold cheek resting on the side of his staff as his fellow spirit stroked the soft silver down on his head. As soft golden waves of sand drifted down from the man's chest, he morphed them into images- that of snowflakes and snowball fights and snowmen- before using his free hand to bless Jack's restless mind.

If the Sandman stayed longer, stroking Jack's hair and swaying to a silent lullaby, it was unknown to anyone else.

Besides the half-awake Jack Frost.

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