A/N: I've debated how to sell this story, because basically, that's what summaries and A/N's do "Sell". So, this idea came from a conversation Kathiann and I had. The rest of the chapters will be longer, I promise. This is just a tease. I have the first 3 chapters written. The basic summary of this story is that events happen which cause Jane to question which reality is "real". His preferred life as consultant with the CBI or the nightmarish life he dreams of every time he sleeps. The life where he's never left the mental institution... well physically anyway. All review, good, bad, and side-ways, are welcome. All characters aren't mine.... all mistakes are.

Enjoy the trip into Jane's subconsciousness.

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The Land of Oz

Chapter 1: Dreams

The dreams came, as they did every time he slept. They were the reason he didn't sleep unless forced.

The dreams were always the same.

Same white room.

Same red smiling face on the wall. The one he'd created using his own blood to be a match for the one taunting him from home.

Sometimes he was bleeding.

Sometimes he was tied to a bed. The bed he'd grown to hate.

Sophie, beautiful Sophie who had helped him so much while he was institutionalized, would always come to comfort him. Calm him. Bandage him up if he was bleeding. Sophie, his psychiatrist, had been his lifeline, and truth be told, the only living person at the time who he had any kind of positive feelings for.

Sophie had been the one bright spot in his horrible existence in the mental hospital. Everything else... everything else had been hell.

Which was why he couldn't sleep.

When he slept, he dreamed. And what he dreamed scared him more than the reality of being awake. If he had of been lucky enough to dream of his family.. his family alive and well before the murders, then that would have been the ultimate pleasure.

If he had dreamed of Red John, then at least he could get justice, if just in his mind.

But dreaming of that place, with it's sterile whiteness-- It's confinement. It's horrible memories--- well, he'd rather not.

There had been a time when he had been in there, feeling trapped-- alone-- where he had let his mind wander and escape to a place where he was well, or doing better at least. A place where there was sun and trees-- people. People who cared about him. People who helped him find and punish Red John. A place where he could laugh and make jokes. A nice place. A healthy place. A place full of color and interesting characters. Not like the institution. Never like the institution.

While inside, Jane had imagined a place where he could help people using the 'gifts' he'd been given. The gift of awareness. The gift of observation. He could help people and feel important all at the same time. He so desperately wanted to help people. Maybe if he could help people, then eventually, he could help himself.

While committed, he had dreamed of that colorful place. Those interesting people. Outside, however, he only dreamed of the white, coldness, and loneliness of his small room.

Sleep didn't come easily to Patrick Jane. After all, who would want to sleep if it only sent you to that room, when you could be awake and among the living?

But Patrick Jane was sleeping-- and with sleep came the dreams.