Chapter Text
Most people didn't know this, but the Sand of the Sandman, much like the Wind of Frost, was alive. Oh, not in the sense that we know, but it was there- it had always been there.
Before the Man on the Moon, before the Sandman, before the Fear, the Sand was there. A spirit of old, a spirit of a different kind.
It, like the Wind, had been here for a long, long time.
And it, like the Wind, protected it's own.
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The Wind was panicking. The Sand thought that was odd, for the Wind was well- wind. What exactly could it panic about? It's not like the Wind rarely ever bothered to look after the humans, such as The Sand did (admittedly only because he did, but that was besides the point) .
A Child? Was the Wind serious? The Wind did not help often, but it could help children on its own. What did it need The Sand's help for? Oh. Oh! A spirit child. The Wind's spirit child?
Yes! The Wind was screaming, The Wind's spirit child. Mine to help, mine to protect. The moon said so, the moon said so!
The Moon? The Moon had given the Wind the task of looking after the child? Like The Sand did him. The Sand gleamed with pride for it's friend. The Wind had a child!
Sad, sad, alone. The Wind chanted. What do I do, what do I do?!
The Sand dimmed. Ah, that was it. The Wind had never had a child. It didn't know what to do. The Sand, shifted, uneasy, think of its own, sad and alone. Crying. "Why? Why, why, why?" The Sand shook, shifting. Now was not the time for unwanted memories.
Calm. The Sand told the Wind. Calm. I will get the Sandman, and he shall help your child, yes? He shall keep him company, show him he's not alone. No need to be sad, yes?
Thank you, The Wind sobbed. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Shhh. He will be there soon. Comfort, protect your child, for he is your own.
Yes, The Wind whispered, quite now. H-he is my own. I will do so, like you do. I shall protect my own.
The Sand, if it could, would have smiled. Good, it whispered. Good.