TITLE: Devious Stares
RATING: Teen, for the moment.
CHARACTERS: All, mostly
PAIRING: Shassiter
WARNINGS: Um, some sexual situation later on, will announce if there is a rating change… and possible narcotic usage.
SUMMARY: Shawn suffers a motorcycle accident that leaves him different for the rest of his life. Suddenly, his psychic fakeness isn't so fake, and it really does hurt.
Chapter 1: Disco Superfly
There was a full-moon in Santa Barbra. The sky sparkled clear, softness lighting the streets of the city to appease the heavy minds of the people. Stars were a nice reprieve from the near-constant rainfall they have suffered through for the past week. Shawn Spencer was all too happy to pull down the visor on his helmet and straddle his bike. The weather had kept him from his baby and he was ecstatic to gear her up again.
Swerving around mud puddles with a practiced grace, Shawn let a smile tear at his mouth, full lips pulling into a toothy grin as the world inside of Santa Barbra flew by. The 'Psych' office had been in a lull lately, with people barricading themselves against the storms and with non-stop power-surges it was no surprise that they hadn't had any clients lately. Taking a turn with a flourish, Shawn laughed outright as he dodged a furry critter, his eyes flickered back to watch the creature scurry into the hedges, tail swishing after him. Turning back, Shawn's mind cleared of all thoughts of furry creatures as headlights turned the far bend, glaring into his eyes.
Shouting in surprise, Shawn tried to swerve, tried to break, to get off of the road, out of the way of the big, silver Ford coming toward him. No time, panic flared to life inside of him as he realized he was going to die, he wasn't going to avoid the 4X4, there wasn't time. Sucking in a breath, Shawn closed his eyes, fear took over as the front tire of his bike caught the bumper of the pickup, followed by the side of his motorcycle, and his body. Pain seared in his leg, ripping, tearing agony took over as his body flew off of his cycle, slamming into the pavement. Shawn felt the impact jolt through his body, his shoulder popped loudly in the night, his good leg scraped against the asphalt as he rolled onto the shoulder of the road.
Taillights lit up his sight as the Ford squealed away, lighting up the shards of glass and plastic that littered the road. Pain radiated through his body, throbbing into his core. The edges of his vision swam, bile rising in his throat, Shawn let loose a broken sob, heaving against the fire inside of him. The world faded to grey, pain flaring into his mind as he slid helplessly into the water at the edge of the embankment.
---
Carlton Lassiter was not a happy man. He'd finished up with the Landor case, finally, but was now waist deep in paperwork because he'd been forced to use his weapon near civilians. Sighing, the detective, head detective, scraped a long-fingered hand down his weary face, fingers brushing over the five-o-clock stubble thoughtfully. It was late, nearing midnight, and the precinct was quiet. Desks were mostly empty as the suits had all gone home, turning over the office space to the boys in blue for the night. Downing the last of his coffee, Carlton decided to call it a night. Shuffling his things into a stack, he dropped them into his briefcase and shouldered his jacket. His hands shook with exhaustion as he reached to shut off his desk lamp, he could use a good solid eight hours in the sac. Sighing, Carlton turned to leave, hand gripping the handle of his case tightly, his foot had only just left the ground when the phone shattered the calm of the precinct. Turning his head to stare back at his desk, Lassiter sighted, body sagging, and reached for the black office telephone.
"Lassiter."
The background noise on the other end had the detective pressing the phone tightly against his ear to hear the woman better.
"Carlton Lassiter? This is Nurse Roberts at General Hospital, we have a one Shawn Spencer here and you were listed as an emergency contact."
Blinking, Carlton set down his briefcase, freeing up his hands to dig through his desk for his contact book, mind going ninety-miles and hour. Him? Spencer's emergency 'C'? "What happened?"
"Mr. Spencer was in an automotive accident, he was brought in twenty minutes ago, conscious, lucid enough to specifically request that we call you."
Frowning, concern laced through the brunette as Carlton snatched up his briefcase again, readying himself to move. "Is he stable?"
"For now, he's been prepped for surgery, but is now unconscious. We only have the ability to keep him alive and stable until his medical proxy gives us the okay to do more."
"I'm on my way." Slamming his phone down, Lassiter shook himself out of his stupor, hands steady as he took for his car, already dialing Henry Spencer's number. It was a quick trip to his car, quicker to unlock and buckle up, he was on the road before Henry picked up the other line.
"What? Don't you know what time it is?"
"Mr. Spencer?"
"Carlton?" Sounding much more lucid, Carlton hear sheets rustling, and the snap of a light being turned on. "What is it? Why are you calling me so late?"
"Shawn crashed his bike, the hospital called me, I'm on my way now. They need his medical proxy there to do anything to help him."
"I'm coming, where?"
"General."
"Good, did you call Burton?"
"No, I will though."
He could hear Henry moving now, the sound of a zipper followed by the jingling of keys. "No." Distraction laced Henry's voice. "No, just get to the hospital, I'll call Burton."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, yeah."
"Okay." Hanging up, Carlton slipped his cell into his jacket pocket, hands tightening on the wheel, wondering why Spencer had asked for him. Specifically.
---
The hospital was lit up like a fluorescent hell. Light spilled out into the parking lot from the large windows framing the lobby. Slipping his gun holster into his glove department, Carlton strode into the hospital with an easy stride, confident, measured steps, disguising the worry with stoic professionalism. He stepped calmly up to the nurses station, eyes focusing on the slight woman behind the high-rise counter.
"I'm looking for Shawn Spencer."
The nurse looked at him briefly before tapping harshly on her keyboard.
"Are you Carlton Lassiter?"
"Yes." A few more taps and clicks and she smiled patiently at him. "The doctor has been paged, he's on his way to speak with you."
Blinking, Lassiter furrowed his eyebrows and stared down at the woman in confusion. "Don't we need his proxy?"
The nurse looked at him before glancing back at her screen. "It says here that you are his medical proxy."
"What? Since when?"
"Carlton!"
Turning, Carlton took in the sight of a bedraggled Henry Spencer striding down the hall, a concerned Guster with him. Both looked worried, sleep lines still lining their faces.
"Have you spoke with the doctor yet?"
Shaking his head to the negative, Carlton turned to lead the troop to the waiting section when the nurse tapped him on the shoulder with a clipboard.
"Mr. Lassiter, these are Shawn's consent forms, medical history and insurance papers, if you would?" She slid a plastic bag toward him, SPENCER was marked on the surface of it. "These are the items we removed from him before surgery."
Nodding, Carlton scribbled his name across the consent forms first, slipping them back toward the nurse, before taking up the clipboard and following a confused Henry back to the lobby.
Passing the plastic bag to Henry for him to dig through, Carlton also unloaded the insurance forms on Burton and turned to the remaining clipboard, history. He skimmed through to fill out the information he did know, DOB, age, social security number, (thank you Chief), address and full name.
For the rest he called out questions to both Henry and Burton, finding out that Shawn was allergic to penicillin and that he'd broken his leg when he was seven from Henry.
"Anything else?"
Gus looked up from his own board, eyes drooping with weariness. "Tonsils, when he was eight, um, arm when he was twenty and he was stabbed when he was in Mexico… when he was twenty-four." The younger man subtly ignored how Henry's head whipped toward him when he mentioned that last piece of information.
Snatching up the finished paperwork, Carlton stood to drop it with the nurse, he was wire-tight with tension. The Landor case had raked him through the coals, and now this business with Spencer had his stomach twisting more than it did when he got divorced. Down the row of chairs, Henry had wrestled open the plastic bag holding Spencer's things and was sifting through them gently, hands barely steady as he pulled out Shawn's helmet.
The plastic side was scraped nearly clean through, deep gouges dug into the thick plastic, the visor was shattered, remaining shards splattered with blood. Spencer's blood. The psychic's jacket was pulled out just as tenderly, the entire right arm was shredded, torn material dangled mockingly, soaked with rust-colored stains of dried blood. A slip of paper fell from the jacket when Henry folded it to put away, neither Gus or Henry noticed as Carlton reached down to pick up the small square. A business card. A green business card with thick orange lettering.
'Shawn Spencer
Psychic Detective
1-800-GO-PSYCH'
Smirking slightly, Carlton slipped the flamboyant card into his wallet, ever amused by Spencer's eccentricities. Stretching his legs out in front of him, Lassiter tried to relax, mind replaying the way Shawn had smiled when he'd plopped down on top of Carlton's desk that morning, eyes lit up with amusement as he annoyed the detective.
---
Spencer looked like hell. He was deathly pale, dark bruising covered the entire right side of his face, disappearing beneath the neckline of his hospital gown. His right arm was propped up in a sling, the shoulder bandaged heavily to keep it from moving. He had a thigh-high cast on his left leg and thick ace-bandaging wrapped around his ribs. He came out of surgery a few hours ago and was in ICU. Doctor Sweat had spoke with the three of them about moving Spencer to a room when he woke up, after he was out of the woods, so to speak.
Tossing his suit jacket over the plastic chair, Carlton shifted the pineapple in his hands before placing it on the bedside table. Clean-shaven and bone tired, Lassiter placed a tentative hand on Spencer's good wrist, fingers brushing the ID bracelet wrapped around his lower forearm. Glancing down at the Psychic, Carlton sighed and pulled away, his body sagging in relief as he sunk down into the chair beside Spencer's bed. So much for an easy Friday.