A/N: OKAY I'M BACK FROM DYING
In other words, here is another multi-chap that I'll probably abandon to die. I was tumblin' along on tumblr the other day (read; like an hour ago) and an anon was like "If Psych ended and you could have your optimum ending what would it be?" And this baby was born. SO PAINFUL. Anyway.
REVIEWS ARE LIKE CRACK. REVIEW AND I MIGHT FIND MOTIVATION TO WRITE MORE
NOTE ON THE TITLE: In Chinese, Yin and Yang mean "sun" or "light" and "clouds" or "darkness" respectively. Hopefully that clears up why it's the shadow of a sun. Because saying Shadow of Yin would be just awkward.
Shawn bolts upright again in his bed, shivers wracking his body and cold sweat on his forehead. He pants, before becoming aware of the presence next to him. The fake psychic nearly jumps out of his skin before realizing who it is.
"Shawn, are you okay?"
He calms down at the sound of Juliet's voice, but something keeps eating at him. That nightmare. The one where he couldn't keep delaying. The one where Mr. Yin hadn't followed standard villain procedures. The one in which he watched Gus... He shakes his head again. Mr. Yin is as scary as dead Gus. Probably the same thing.
"...Shawn?"
And at the moment Juliet touches Shawn's face, he leans into it, just longing for any sort of contact. The junior detective winces.
"Ow... that's..."
Shawn shies away.
"I'm sorry."
Juliet blinks, before settling back into a warm smile.
"Shawn... it's okay. I'll be okay, we'll be okay. Just calm down, and get some rest."
He nods slowly, watching his girlfriend drift asleep. As Juliet's eyelids flutter closed, he sighs. He needs to do something to get his mind off of this dream. Hefting himself up, he shivers as the cold air hits his legs. A shattering sound catches his ears as he hisses in pain. The glass sitting next to his bed had fallen off the nightstand and shattered. Shawn curses, and then sidles around the minefield to get to the bathroom to bandage up his torn foot.
The soothing yellow glow does more for his gashed limb than all that gauze. Shawn sits on the ground, hair in vivid disarray. As he reaches for the counter to help pull him up, he knocks his phone to the ground. It clatters noisily on the tile. He fumbles at the thing, muttering under his breath for the damn phone to "keep quiet, for all that is good."
He means to bring it back with him to put it on his nightstand, but that doesn't happen. His fingers are somehow on autopilot as he unlocks the screen and dials a phone number that he shouldn't know by heart. By the time the phone's ringing in his ear and a gruff "'lo?" echoes through his rattled brain, he's hoping that he can pull on his normal façade. Not broken, not wrecked, not—
"Lassie."
Damn, that was convincing.