Fight Song
Summary: After being shot and kidnapped, Shawn struggles with the outcome. Juliet struggles to forgive him. Spoilers for STASITD and YCHTE. Set during mid Season Four.
The silence was deafening.
Shawn's eyes were dull.
A numbness spread from his heart to his finger tips.
He was in a cold sweat.
The psychic just stared.
Stared in agony at the abandoned Ever Last bag.
He swallowed, hands trembling.
The one that rested in his sling curled into a tight fist.
Shawn had waited until the police department gym was quiet and empty.
It was dark except for the single over head light that was above the boxing ring.
It was where Shawn stood now.
There was a flicker in those hazel depths.
How was it possible to feel nothing?
Yet everything all at once?
He felt helpless.
Helpless every time Gus or Henry or Juliet would look at him in pity.
Look at him like he was going to break.
Shawn felt afraid.
More like terrified.
He could no longer go charging into the unknown.
A hot tear slipped down his cheek.
And that alone, made him feel very, very vulnerable.
To where he once felt immortal.
Shawn Spencer was afraid.
A tiny little misstep and he was forever scarred.
His fingers traced lightly over the ragged bump on his shoulder.
Shawn felt the bullet over and over again.
He felt the pain.
His chiseled face crumpled.
He felt..the memories.
Seeing wasn't enough this time.
And almost was not almost.
Shawn felt like screaming every time he woke up in the morning.
Or felt like he was alone.
Every time he heard a loud, sudden noise.
The psychic hated...despised the feeling of breaking down.
Just...sobbing for no reason.
For feeling like his heart was breaking.
For his photographic memory nearly killing him once again.
Shawn didn't bother wiping the tears away.
You nearly got yourself killed...
But more importantly Shawn felt guilty.
Guilt was the emotion that could really destroy every single piece inside of you.
A sob escaped.
He tried to tell me, a sniff.
A erratic tremble.
Henry tried to tell me my stupid...stupid motormouth would get me in trouble someday.
Shawn broke out of his thoughts, eyes still dull and empty. .
A man died.
A man was murdered: because of him.
Because he wouldn't shut up!
He wanted to scream.
His available fist slammed Into the black bag.
It thudded loudly, making the chains twist.
He felt angry.
Angry at himself.
For letting it happen.
For encouraging Garth to help him.
For not dying instead him.
Shawn's vision blurred.
He took a step back.
Angry for being Shawn Spencer.
Angry for not knowing what lines not to cross.
Angry he ignored everything anyone ever said.
Ignored their pleas and warnings.
The man shuddered back another sob.
I'm sorry, he pleaded here and now.
I'm so sorry...a glassy breath, I got you killed.
Shawn sniffed, taking his right hand and sliding off the purple sling.
It dropped to the ground.
His left fingers were stiff, after flexing them he rubbed his shoulder.
He had nearly rubbed it raw on multiple occasions.
Shawn put on a pair of black gloves.
He also wore a white t-shirt and gym shorts.
His shoulder movements sent up white hot bolts of pain.
The brunette ignored it by gritting his teeth.
After all, he deserved it.
Shawn let out a few soft punches.
Trying to get a feel for it.
A jab here and there with his lame arm and then a hard right hook.
He panted.
His breaths came out sharply between his teeth.
Shawn fought off the memories.
He shot out a punch.
Pain exploded behind his eyeballs.
Everything came crashing down as his knees buckled.
Shawn let out a scream.
He saw stars.
He cradled his injured arm gingerly, climbing slowly to his feet.
Sweat dripped from every pour as he carried on.
Every time his shoulder moved back or it took the brunt of a fury-driven 1,2,3 combination.
Or a 2, 1.
Shawn could barely stand the pain.
But he had to break free from the numbness.
It had enveloped him and played with his feelings for months.
It made living a hard thing to do.
So even if all Shawn felt was anger and guilt: it was something.
The aching tremble in his fingers, his pounding heart, it made the psychic feel like he was actually in the room.
Punching the black bag until his knuckles bled was the only thing that made Shawn feel that immortality coming back.
Shoving back the pain made him feel in control.
Worth something.
Unbreakable.
Taking out everything he ever felt against his dad and the job on an immobile object was unbelievably freeing.
It made him want to sob.
It made him want to sink his claws into the bag forever.
The swings got more wild.
His breaths heavier, more crazed.
Solid muscle buldged under his t-shirt.
Sweat dripped into his eyes.
Shawn couldn't feel the pain anymore.
He felt alive.
The Pro-Ever Last gloves left very little fabric in between him and the bag.
It made it personal.
It made it real.
It made Shawn feel.
If there were bruises tomorrow so be it.
He was done.
Done not fighting.
Done letting the other side win.
Done being afraid.
Done feeling weak.
Another punch.
This time it was a tricky 8-combination.
"Ewen O'Hara."
Thump.
"You're always fighting with your father you rarely see your mother-"
THUD!
An angry shudder and an angry pace.
A bright flash in hazel orbs.
"You rarely see your mother."
Thump, Thump, SLAM!
"What's it like to kill someone?"
Thud.
"I pray you never find out."
A quick jab.
A gunshot stabbed terror through Shawn's soul.
Thump.
It was meant for me! he cried inside.
SLAM!
The bag was ringing.
"That shot was meant for me," Shawn whispered painfully and fell to the ground.
His knees crumpled in one fluid motion.
Gloved but raw hands cradled his own frame.
They were immediately wracked by continuous sobs.
Familiar calloused hands touched his good shoulder.
It made him sob heavier.
It was the first time Shawn hadn't jumped at someone's touch in months.
Juliet would never forgive him.
The bus left a few minutes ago.
Carrying her hero.
And it was all because of him.
Breathing now hurt.
Henry wrapped his arms around him.
Shawn sunk into it.
The bag still swayed back and forth.
The only sounds were of a dying animal.
And a soft soothing.
He felt like he could never trust again.
Never laugh again.
Abigail was gone.
And he was a murderer.
"Ssh, it's okay kid," Henry rocked him back and forth. "It's okay."
Dead eyes stares back at him.
"I killed him!" A muffled confession.
Followed by a shattering wail, "I k-killed hhhhiiimm!"
The vague realization turned into mass panic.
He began hyperventilating.
The hug became tighter, "It's okay. I'm here Shawn. You're okay."
Henry ran his fingers through soft hair in a soothing gesture.
Something he hadn't done since he was a kid.
They both sat there while Shawn fought off his demons.
Just the idea of ice cream now made him feel nauseous.
"Call me when somebody gets shot or there's a dead body."
"I've got more than enough bags for your body parts."
"What should I call you? Mr. Blonde? Mr. Pink?"
"H-Hel..." a hand on his throat. "H...lp."
"Binshot not lol."
"Yllwconepflex."
"I had to tell Juliet I loved her."
"Goodbye...Abigail."
"I thought about it. I thought about it right as they pulled the dog tags out of that guys mouth!"
"Come with me."
"Imagine this bullet lodging into your brain. Can you imagine how easy that would be for me?"
"It's a flesh wound. Quite whining."
"For the record I hate that I was right."
"Me too."
"Look man, I've been shot! I'm going to jump on somebody's car!"
A scream.
A chance.
"Dad...Dad..." The young man stumbled, nearly collapsing in his fathers arms.
"Nice shooting detective."
"...Did you just call me detective?"
"My sister never shuts up about you. She says your prophetic."
"Remember the wind chimes I got you for your birthday?"
A gunshot.
"It's my fault."
"He was just trying to talk to his girlfriend!"
"How stupid can you get? The cops are probably half way here by now!"
"I call it...very close talking."
A nod, "I'm ending this."
He was going to die.
Shawn had to try and accept it.
But finding out the alternative, opening his eyes...
Seeing the body.
It was a much, much harder thing to accept.
He was a murderer.
He wasn't even psychic.
Shawn swallowed thickly, suddenly very light-headed.
He stared with empty and glassy eyes at a small pinpoint area on the wall.
He didn't speak.
Couldn't breath.
Wet eyelashes slowly closed and reopened.
He remembered the conversation he and Juliet had before he came in here.
Flash:
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Shawn carefully approached the junior detective.
His hands were placed together.
Her icy expression made him stop in his tracks.
"Juliet..I-"
"-What did you think would happen Shawn?" She said quickly. "Did you think everything would somehow magically fix itself? That we would go back to flirting and I would giggle at your irresistible boyish charm? Well guess what Shawn?" Her eyes were deadly serious, "It. Won't. Work."
"Are you mad because I was right?"
Juliet howled in frustration at his response, "You don't get it! And you never will! It's called family Shawn. You don't go after...family. And why is it you constantly, have to be right?! I'm trying to forgive you. I'm trying to forget that you can't help anything that you do-"
He looked at her on confusion.
"I try and find your hair and obnoxious, inappropriate jokes adorable. I try and ignore your questionable sources and wild claims of being psychic! You know why? I believe in you. And that's what friends do Shawn," She was crying. "Friends believe in each other before anyone else...and when no one else will," a violent tremble, "Friends do not accuse their' 'family' of being spies and killers!"
"I'm so sorry Juliet," Shawn's eyes were torn and upset.
It was silent between them for thirty seconds.
Thirty, agonizing seconds.
Then she said, "I'm sorry too."
Juliet walked away.
He ran after her, holding on to his sling, "Juliet!"
"Juliet!"
They ended up outside, where the prisoners were being loaded up on the bus.
It had started to rain.
She stopped, after briefly looking up at the sky.
Carlton was waiting a few feet away an umbrella.
"I'm sorry I was right. I'm so sorry I accused Ewen of espionage, " after her look Shawn added, "And murder. I'm sorry I'm dating Abigail-"
"Shawn-"
"I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I didn't take the chance," Rain water splashed onto his chiseled face as looming dark clouds rumbled, "I'm so sorry, Juliet O'Hara that I was afraid! I'm sorry I can't give you what you deserve. I'm sorry for being an idiot-"
"Spencer, knock it off," Carlton rolled his eyes, chewing on a piece of gum.
Shawn's head shotup, "Lassie! Can't you see that we are speaking," he gestured towards Juliet, "Like man to woman."
He looked back into her wide, stormy grey-blue eyes.
They were magnificent.
"...And I'm sorry for that," he pointed.
The only sounds were of the rain against Mexican styled pavement.
"Please...please Juliet," a breath, "Say that you'll forgive me."
The detective nodded, carefully schooling her expression, but it was still stony, "Thank you. I appreciate your honesty."
She tried to leave again, to the bottom of the stairs.
"One more thing..."
Shawn's face now looked serious.
And sad.
"You're wrong. I may not have a mom. Or a healthy relationship with my dad. And I may be alone. Without siblings. Except for Gus...but I do understand, Juliet. Family's more than...just DNA. We fight and take care of one another. I will always care," his voice hit a higher a pitch as it broke, "About the people in Santa Barbara. I care about you, I care about Lassie-"
Another eyeroll from the Head Detective.
Shawn continued, "I care." A shaky breathy, "So don't you dare for one second, say that I don't!"
Buzz and some inmates emotionally watched the scene take place.
Juliet's guarded wall wavered.
"You want me to be honest? Fine. I would die for you, Juliet..." Shawn admitted briskly, "But if you ever mention my mom again then we are done."
It was his turn to walk away.
"Are you okay kid?"
Henry helped Shawn to his feet.
The PI took a single breath.
Feeling drained but lighter than has been in a long time.
"Yeah," Shawn smiled wide, "Yeah I'm okay."
Fin.
Author Notes: I had a hard time finding the end for this one. I'm sorry I nicked that DNA line from NCIS but I had to put in here :) I love my Psych family. R&R