This is a total departure from both my usual style and subject matter. I wanted to try something different, needed to write a little angst and this one-shot was the result. I'd love to know what y'all think, because I'm not quite sure how I feel about it. Small mention of/mini-spoiler for We'd Like To Thank The Academy. Also, major character death and possibly a tearjerker (maybe?). Consider yourselves warned! :) And I don't own Psych. Sadly. -abby

I saw it happen.

If I could prevent it, if I could go back to that terrible moment and change everything, I would do it in a heartbeat.

He knows that. I'm sure he knows. He has to. Because I'm positive he feels the same way.

We were both there. So was my partner, and I'm absolutely certain that he holds himself responsible. This shouldn't have happened, not right in front of us. We should have done something. We're cops. We should have been able to stop it.

God, the whole case was a disaster from the very beginning. I still can't believe the chief gave permission for them to ride along. Just this once, she said.

I wish she hadn't.

It was Carlton's call to let them come into the warehouse. I don't know why he agreed. I was really surprised, because he never agrees.

I don't know why I didn't argue. I should have. This is exactly the kind of thing that I always worried about. The very reason I suggested their (ridiculously short) stint at the academy.

Why? Why didn't I argue or insist that they wait in the car? On any other day I would have.

It wasn't any other day.

He says it isn't my fault. Or Carlton's fault either, although it would be very easy for him to blame us both. I would blame us. I do blame us.

Maybe all of this would be easier if he were angry.

But he isn't angry. Not at all. He's something else, but I'm not sure what. Sad doesn't seem strong enough. Depressed doesn't quite fit either. What, then?

In a word, I'd say he's broken.

Physically, he's here with me. I can feel the reassuring weight of his body on mine. I look down, and I see his head in my lap. My fingers run through his hair, rhythmically, evenly, over and over again. I hope it comforts him as he sleeps, although I'm not sure he's even aware of my presence.

Mentally, emotionally, he's somewhere else entirely. Thinking back, it was actually kind of amazing - in a horrifying, heartbreaking sort of way. The look on his face when he realized. The way the light in his eyes went out. It's like his essence, his personality, everything he was - just disappeared. One minute he was there, and then in an instant he…wasn't.

He sighs a little. It sounds like a sob. He begins to stir, so I pull the blanket tighter around his shoulders and whisper softly until he drops off again. It doesn't take long. The sedatives are strong, and his doctor warned me that they would probably knock him out for several hours at least.

He needs the rest. He hasn't slept for days. I know he's exhausted but it's like his mind can't shut down, can't let go of the pain long enough to relax. He resisted the sedatives, of course, but eventually I managed to talk him into it. His father's firm insistence may have helped a bit too.

In the past, there was someone who could have convinced him without difficulty.

But this isn't the past. This is now. And now everything is different.

I watch him sleep. It isn't peaceful. He's restless, mumbling and twitching rapidly, as though having nightmares. I wouldn't doubt it. I keep stroking his hair, hoping it will soothe him. "Shhh," I murmur. "Shhh, baby. You're fine. It's okay."

I feel like a liar. Of course it isn't okay. How could it be? But I have to at least pretend. I have to be strong.

Because I'm afraid he's going to shatter. I've never seen him like this, so fragile, so heartsick. In so much pain.

I'll do whatever I can to help hold him together. I'll be here for as long as it takes. Even if it takes forever, I have to help him get past this. If he can get past this. But even if he moves on, he'll never be the same. How could he? How could anyone?

I feel him stir beneath my hands, and am surprised when he suddenly sits up.

He speaks before I have the chance. "He's gone." Just a few small words, but the meaning behind them changes his life forever. Our life. What could have been. "I miss him."

It isn't fair.

"I know," I say helplessly. It's true.

"Gus died," he says simply. I think he's still in denial. He needs confirmation, although I know he doesn't really want it.

"He did," I reply quietly, my own heart seizing with the words. "I'm so sorry." And I am. I'm truly sorry, more than words can possibly convey. I can't even imagine how he must feel.

His beautiful hazel eyes, now bloodshot and weary, search mine for a long moment. Then he whispers, "I can't lose you, Jules. Please don't leave."

The despair in his voice is raw and it's excruciating to hear. But there's something else in his tone, something less agonizing.

Hope.

"You won't lose me, Shawn. I'm not leaving."

He seems to believe me and nods slowly before curling back into my lap. "I'm glad," comes a whisper so faint I may be imagining it.

I resume stroking his hair as he again retreats into sleep.

I can't control the future, but I'll always be here. Because when you love someone, that's how it works. I'm not going anywhere.

This much I can promise.