Psych: What Dreams May Come
Chapter 1: Choking up
"God, please," Shawn choked out, scrabbling against the arm pressing into his throat.
"You've never learned when to shut up, have you?" I snarled, pushing harder, his feeble tugs growing weaker as his fingers pried at my arm. I felt him, finally, kick at my shins, trying to throw me off balance, but the pitifully weak jabs were laughable.
His face was red and tears streamed from his eyes as he struggled to breathe. He mouthed a few words, disbelief and confusion written all over his face.
I felt his struggles weaken, his arms dropping to his sides. He blinked up at me, hardly able to focus. His hand fisted around the seam of my loudly-printed Hawaiian shirt.
"Dad?" he managed to croak out, his wide hazel eyes pleading with me.
There was a crunch from under my arm and his hand fell limply to his side.
I looked down into the clouded, lifeless eyes of my son and smiled.
I woke with a gasp and sat up quickly, wincing as my back protested. For long moments I didn't know where I was, when it was. I just saw Shawn's look of betrayal and, worse yet, his empty eyes.
My hands were shaking as I scrubbed over my face, unsurprised to find it wet with tears.
What kind of dream was that for a father to have? I mean, the kid aggravated me, sure, but I never really wanted to kill him. Never. He was my son.
The first rays of sunlight were just peeking over the mountains, but I couldn't stop myself. Snatching the phone from its place on the bedside table, I hit number seven on the speed dial.
After three rings, each one tying my stomach in tighter and tighter knots, he answered.
"Dad?" he croaked, sounding so much like he had in the dream that I was seized with an unreasonable fear.
"Dad, are you okay?" Shawn asked, his voice clearing, though now worried.
"Dad!" he called again, and I could hear him moving around.
"Shawn," I rasped, my throat closed tightly.
"What's wrong? Why didn't you answer me?" Shawn yelled, his voice tense.
I cleared my throat.
"I… I'm fine. Nothing's wrong," I said.
There was a loud huff and I could hear him fall back onto his bed.
"Why are you calling me at… 5 am then?" he asked with a tired sigh.
"I just…"
What? I had a bad dream and I had to make sure you were okay?
"This better not be about fishing," Shawn interrupted before I could complete my sentence.
"Yeah," I said, seizing the lifeline, "I was about to head out and wanted to see if you'd join me," I spat out the lie quickly, hating the sour taste of it.
He snorted.
"Yeah, right. I'll jump on my bike and be over in two shakes of a trout's tail. Not."
I glanced over and saw the shirt from my dream, hanging benignly from the closet doorknob.
"That's fine, Shawn," I said softly, "Have a good day."
There was a long pause.
"You, too, Dad," he said finally, sounding puzzled, "Have fun hooking poor, unsuspecting fish," his tone changing as he prepared to hang up.
"Be careful, Son. I love you," I added before he could go.
He had to know. He had to stay safe. I couldn't bear to see him like that, ever again.
A longer pause.
"I-I will," he stuttered, "Are you sure you're okay?"
I sighed and gave a noncommittal hum.
"Love you, Dad," he said quietly, "Bye."
He hung up and I held the silent phone for long minutes before I forced myself to move.
The first thing I did was burn the shirt.
And then I had to repaint the hallway.
AN: Do you guys want me to continue? Or is this okay to leave as is? I'm sorta inspired to write a Shawn and Henry whump fic. You like?