Blurb: Blair feels helpless in the face of reoccuring dreams and real-life.
Blair could still here the fading scream of "I didn't touch it, honest!" right before the bomb exploded. Right before the cheerful playground became a field of pain and death. Right before he could save the boy.
And, like the last three nights he woke up screaming warnings to the dead boy. And just like those nights, Jim was there before he could come fully awake. "I'm okay," Blair answers before Jim can ask.
"Give me a break, Sandburg," Jim said, poking him gently in the forehead. "You are not fine."
Sighing, he pushes the covers away and moves to stand. "I can't move past it," he says, leaving his bedroom and heading for the kitchen. "I keep seeing things that I could have done differently, but someone always dies."
Jim followed his weary partner and guide. "Answer me this," he said. "Knowing everything you know now, could you have stopped it?"
"No," Blair answered, dejectedly. "No," he repeated, "and that's the problem. I know that. But knowing isn't making it better."
Jim nodded. It was supposed to, but it would help the process. He should know, he'd been on the other side of this conversation many times. "Now, answer me this," he asked Blair, "can you help me catch him?"
Blair looked into the face of his sentinel. "Yes."
"Then, that's all you can do, Chief."
The bomber was found two days later near another playgound. This time the park was cleared and the only one hurt was the bomber himself. "Sometimes karma does bite back," Blair said quietly, watching them load the wounded suspect into the ambulance.
Jim snorted, but otherwise didn't reply.
As for the dreams, they didn't stop immediately. They would be as shadows and echoes of the story of the sentinel and guide who watched over the people of Cascade.
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