Should I be working on a whole new story when I still have two unfinished on this site? Probably not, but am I going to do it anyway? Definitely. Mostly because I just discovered this finished story in a long-forgotten file. Don't even remember when I wrote it, but since I've been revisiting Psych lately I thought it was the perfect time to finally post. It's a definite departure from what we ever saw on the show, but hopefully I kept everyone mostly true to character...considering the circumstances. Major character death ahead so consider yourself warned. I envision this taking place somewhere in the first few seasons, maybe late season 2ish. Standard disclaimers apply - I don't own Psych or any of its characters, and the title of this story is pulled from a Shel Silverstein poem. I hope you enjoy. -abby
God, he's going to kill me, Shawn thought as he pushed the Norton just a little bit faster. I was supposed to be there an hour ago.
Shawn had fully intended to be on time for dinner at his dad's for once, he really had. It's not my fault that playing Wii is so addictive. I forgot to check the clock! But now he's all pissed off and not answering the phone. I'm sure I'll have to listen to a lecture as soon as I walk in the door.
As he continued speeding down the road toward Henry's house, Shawn rolled his eyes. I should just turn around and go home. I don't think he'd be any madder than he probably already is. I can beg forgiveness tomorrow.
But he didn't turn around. Something made Shawn keep going, and ten minutes later he parked in front of the familiar old house. He didn't bother to knock, just walked in the door while tossing his jacket and helmet on a nearby chair. "Dad?" At the resulting silence, Shawn rolled his eyes again and sighed dramatically. Great, he really is pissed. "Dad, come on. Give me a break. I'm sorry, okay? I just lost track of time, I didn't mean to be so late."
Still no response. "Dad? You here?" His truck is in the drive, he's got to be here somewhere. Shawn wandered into the kitchen and froze. Oh god. No.
Henry lay sprawled on his back, terrifyingly motionless on the hard floor. Shawn crossed the room in two strides and dropped to his knees by his father's side. "Dad. Dad, can you hear me?" He reached to check for a pulse, but as soon as he touched Henry's cool skin he knew.
He knew that it was too late. That his dad was already gone.
Shawn's heart leapt into his throat. His chest tightened and he gasped for breath. He's dead. No! He suddenly felt dizzy and collapsed in a heap on the linoleum, staring at his father's body in disbelief. This can't be happening. He was fine this morning! No, this isn't real. He's not dead. He can't be. I made a mistake. Tentatively, Shawn reached for Henry's shoulder and shook it. "Dad? Dad, come on. This isn't funny." No. Please no. It can't be. Please don't be dead.
Please.
There was no response. And as much as Shawn hoped for one, begged for one, needed one, he knew there was no hope. He squeezed his eyes shut in desperation. Maybe this is a nightmare. Maybe when I open my eyes again I'll be at home in my bed. But it was not to be, and Shawn knew. He knew. Finally, shaking hands dug into his pockets in search of his phone. He pulled it out and blinked fuzzily at the screen, unsure of who to call. Eventually he settled on a name.
The call was answered on the first ring. "Detective O'Hara."
Shawn paused, long enough so that Juliet repeated herself. There was the slightest trace of annoyance in her voice as she said for the second time, "This is Detective O'Hara."
"Um, J-Jules?" Shawn knew he sounded pathetic but couldn't quite bring himself to care.
As she recognized the caller, Juliet's tone immediately softened. "Shawn? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Lassiter was at his own desk nearby, and looked up quizzically at the concern in his partner's voice.
On the other end of the line, Shawn stammered weakly. "Um…it's my d-dad…I…f-found him…"
Confused, Juliet waited for Shawn to finish. When it was clear that nothing else was forthcoming, she prodded gently. "What are you talking about, Shawn? Where did you find your dad?"
"At his house," Shawn blurted out. "He died, Jules. He's dead!"
Shocked, Juliet gasped and covered her mouth. At the reaction Lassiter's curiosity level ratcheted up a notch, from mild interest to something bordering on concern.
"Oh my god, Shawn," Juliet managed to say. "We're coming - you just hang in there, okay? We're coming." She hung up and grabbed her jacket without a word to her partner, knowing he trusted her enough to follow. Without question, Lassiter grabbed his own coat and dutifully trailed the young woman as she ran down the hall.
Across town, Shawn nodded dumbly as he set down his phone. "They're coming, Dad," he said out loud, looking down at his father's lifeless body. "They're coming," he repeated softly, the words punctuated with a choking sob.
He's gone. I can't believe this. This isn't what was supposed to happen. Not now. Not like this. God, please, not like this.
Shawn wasn't sure how long he sat there in the fading light, alone with his father's body. It seemed like forever.
In reality, less than ten minutes had passed when Juliet opened the front door without knocking. Carlton followed her inside. "Shawn?"
"I-in here," came the response.
The two detectives found the psychic curled in a corner of the kitchen, just a few feet away from where Henry's body lay.
"Oh, Shawn," Juliet rushed to her friend as Lassiter knelt beside the body, cop instincts forcing him to confirm the obvious. Henry was gone.
Shawn watched impassively as Lassiter stood and pulled out his phone. The tall detective left the room, but Shawn and Juliet could still hear him making the call for a coroner. Juliet turned to the quiet man beside her. He was clearly deep in thought, and she touched his arm gently. "I'm so sorry." She paused. "Do you have any idea what happened?"
Shawn swallowed hard. "I…I don't know. I was supposed to be here for dinner and I was late…and…and when I g-got here…" He trailed off and looked away for a moment. "I was late, Jules." I should have been here. I was too late. I should have been here but I wasn't.
Juliet's heart almost broke from the despair in his voice. She gently brushed her fingers across Shawn's pallid cheek. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, at a loss for anything better.
Before Shawn could respond, Lassiter returned. "The coroner is on the way," he said quietly, mostly to his partner. "And I called Guster."
At his best friend's name Shawn seemed to rally a little. "Gus. Oh god, I didn't call him." He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead against them, slowly rocking back and forth. "What was I thinking? I forgot to call Gus."
Juliet and Lassiter exchanged a worried glance. "You're in shock, Spencer," the head detective said, not unkindly. "Guster understands. He's on his way."
Shawn nodded, never lifting his face. "Okay," was all he could think of.
"Come on, Shawn. Let's go outside and wait for Gus," Juliet encouraged gently. She didn't want him in the room when the coroner arrived.
With a final desperate look at his father's body, Shawn allowed the young detective to guide him to his feet and out of the house. Juliet grabbed Shawn's jacket on the way, then led him to a chair on the porch. She watched as her charge obediently sat and silently accepted the jacket she wrapped around his shoulders.
Shawn didn't make a sound or move a muscle as he stared vacantly toward the beach. Juliet sighed. Shawn's reactions were normal for the circumstances, and she knew that Lassiter was right – he was in shock. But it was still unnerving to see the usually hyperactive psychic so quiet and still.
"Shawn." Slowly he pulled his gaze from the pounding surf and focused in her direction. Juliet knelt in front of her friend and held his hands in hers, noticing that they were ice cold and trembled slightly. "Do you need anything? Some water?"
He shook his head. "No," was the virtually inaudible reply. "Will Gus be here soon?"
Shawn sounded so forlorn, so bereft, that Juliet wanted to gather the psychic into her arms and comfort him as though a child. Resisting the urge, instead she just replied, "Yeah, he'll be here very soon."
As if on cue, the familiar little blue car pulled up in the driveway. Gus leapt out almost before it came to a full stop. "Shawn!" Juliet rose and wisely moved out of the way as Gus ran onto the porch and dropped to his knees in front of his best friend.
"Hey, buddy," Shawn managed a wan smile in greeting, but it quickly turned into a frown. "My dad died," he said simply. Dad died. He's dead. No matter how many times Shawn thought – or said – the words, they didn't seem real. Everything felt like a horrible dream, a terrible misunderstanding. This can't be happening.
"I know. Oh my god, Shawn. I'm so sorry." Gus studied his friend carefully, searching the hazel eyes for a long moment. His heart sank at the raw misery reflected there.
A vehicle approached, and all three glanced over just in time to see the coroner's dark van arrive. Shawn whispered desperately, "I can't do this. No. It's my dad, Gus."
Gus knew his friend was hurting deeply. Hell, he was hurting. Henry Spencer had been like a second father to him for the last 25 years – it was unbelievable that he was gone. Just like that. Gus had never lost anyone so close to him and truly had no idea how Shawn must feel. Henry was really all Shawn had in terms of family. And for all of the fighting Gus had witnessed between Shawn and Henry over the years, he knew they loved each other fiercely - although they were both too damn stubborn to ever admit it. Now they'd never get the chance, because Henry was gone. Forever.
Overwhelmed at the realization, Gus felt his head spin and he took a deep breath. He was at a complete loss. He didn't know what to what to say or do, but needed to provide comfort however he could. "Do you want to leave, Shawn?" he offered helplessly.
Shawn seemed not to hear as he watched the coroners solemnly wheel a gurney into his father's home. That's it. They'll take him to the morgue and perform an autopsy. He's just another body now. This is really happening. It's the end. I'll never get to talk to him again. Dad's really dead.
Finally Shawn turned slowly to face Gus and Juliet, grief etched in his pale features. He nodded and said softly, "I want to go now. I want…" He trailed off, unsure of what he wanted. He didn't want to think, he knew that much for sure. "Do you still have those Best of Molly Ringwald DVDs at your apartment?" God, you jerk, your dad just died and you're asking about eighties movies? But Shawn knew it wasn't really about the movies. He felt as though he was about to shatter, and he didn't know how to cope. It hurts. "I need…" Shawn faltered, and pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead as Gus spoke up.
"Absolutely, buddy. We can do that. Whatever you want." Gus didn't need an explanation. He understood completely, and was willing to do whatever he could to help his friend deal with the heartbreaking loss. He knew that eventually Shawn would need to talk, but Gus wasn't going to force. For the moment, Shawn just needed him to be there. And he would.
For her part, Juliet was torn - she wanted to hug Shawn but wasn't sure if she should, wasn't sure it was her place. He looked so fragile, as if the slightest contact would break him. She settled for gently squeezing his hand. "You call me if you need anything, okay?" She could see Shawn's hesitation and continued, quietly but firmly, "Go with Gus. It's okay, Shawn. Carlton and I will take care of your dad."
Shawn's eyes shone brightly, and he closed them just in time to keep the tears from falling. "Thanks, Jules. Tell Lassie…" Once more he seemed to lose the words, and Juliet smiled sadly as he opened red-rimmed eyes to meet hers.
"I know. I'll tell him, Shawn."
"Okay," Shawn whispered, allowing Gus to take an elbow and lead him down the steps.
"Come on, buddy. Let's go," Gus murmured reassuringly. "I've got you."
The childhood friends slowly made their way across the lawn. Juliet watched, her own eyes brimming with tears at the way Gus gently supported Shawn, an arm around the psychic's hunched shoulders as if his life depended on it.
Maybe it did.