New Arrivals
Author-Vision
Titles

Dream Catcher
by Vision

Summary: Originally posted to SentinelAngst.

Notes: This story was inspired by a picture drawn by a very talented artist named Cheri Allen. Check out the following link to view this incredible piece of artwork: <http://mywebpages.comcast.net/cheriallen/blanket.jpg>

Disclaimer: Canon characters do not belong to me. They are the property of Pet Fly and Paramount. I don't make any money etc., etc.

They told me that he if he ever woke up, he would probably not remember me. That the life that we had shared before would be snuffed out like the flickering flame of a candle. I refuse to believe them... Even as I sit here, cradling his head against my chest, the doctor's words are merely the echoed syllables of a foolish man who has no concept of what makes Blair Sandburg tick.

The sound of a gunshot still shatters my world, my head whipping around at any change in air currents that might even remotely carry the same vibration. A door slamming, a backfiring car, all making me jump out of my seat like some hyped-up drug addict. Maybe that's what I've become; maybe that's my cross that I have to bear from this horrible experience. Blair not remembering the shooting would be a good thing; me not being able to forget, like an open wound in my soul that would forever bleed freely.

I've taken him home now, despite loud protests from everyone involved. I couldn’t see the point of watching him waste away in some hospital bed while whispered words were the only sound that he could hear. He needed music and light and space and air. He needed to be Blair again. The machines are gone, the bandages the only visible sign of any injury sustained on that fated day. I hold him more for myself than for him, needing that connection, that something mystical, and yet real that we shared just weeks before. If he should die in my arms, or awake not knowing who or where he is, I want to be the one that he turns to. This is probably a very selfish act, wanting him all to myself when so many others want him too.

Naomi stopped by this morning, a care package tucked under her arm, filled with tiny boxes and jars of unidentifiable herbs and lotions. I watched as she tended to him, seeing the pain and love reflecting in her eyes. She knew -- we both knew -- that no magical potion or rare root would be bringing back the light to his eyes. The decision to live was not ours...

The nurse drops by every few hours to check on him, adjusting this, monitoring that, scrawling notes in a notepad that mean nothing to me. She's pleasant and plump and annoyingly sweet, and I've grown to hate her. Not because of who she is, but of what she represents. A life...our lives dependent on someone else.

So I sit here, rocking him in my arms, talking in circles about nothing in particular. I tuck the blanket around him, close to his face, blocking out everything around him save the beating of my heart. "I need you my friend. I need you, Chief," I whisper against the mottled curls on the top of his head. "Don't leave me."

I think he can hear me, or maybe it's just the soft exhalations that I have imagined carrying my name. Maybe these weeks have torn at my sanity, and now there is only the ghost of his voice against my chest. No..... I dare not believe that all is lost.

I've placed a dream catcher just outside the balcony doors, the soft downy feathers dancing in the evening breeze. I never thought I would ever do something so foolish, so utterly uncharacteristic of myself, and yet it is the one thing that my eyes drift to when they are not fastened on the expressionless face of my best friend.

I feel a tiny shift in his heart rate, my arms tightening reflexively around his smaller frame. "I'm here," I soothe, running a hand along his back. "I'll be here no matter what you decide." I feel the sting of tears in my eyes as those words tumble from my mouth. I've thought about saying them, but have never had the courage to speak them aloud.

Sometime shortly after I've soaked the top of his head with tears, I fall into an exhausted slumber. I dream that I hear his voice calling me, his fingers lighting gently across my cheek. I open my eyes, slowly wanting to hold fast to that simple magical dream. His face swims before me, his vibrant blue eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Thank god, Jim. I thought I lost you. It's gonna be okay now. You're back. Doc says you'll be fine. That must have been some dream you just had. "

If he only knew....

~the end~