This came out of the blue and I don't really have much planned for it. But here goes...
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.
Summary: Christmas is a joyful time of year. But Shawn's about to discover it won't be a joyful year for him. And he won't be able to run away this time.
This story is available on Psychfic under the same penname :)
It's A Very, Very Mad World
Shawn looked at his watch. Then again. That was when his phone rang. But he knew who was calling him…since this was the third time his phone went off in the past twenty minutes.
Shawn answered, "I'm on my way, dad…no I did not forget the fruitcake..." he did. "Alright, I'll be there soon….no, soon. And stop calling me; it will only delay my arrival. Oh, and FYI, it's called being fashionably late." Shawn disconnected the call. Who the hell eats fruitcake anyway?
"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" an intoxicated stranger bearing resemblance to Bad Santa tolled noisily beside Shawn, making the young Spencer jump in surprise. Shawn just waved him off with an attempted smile that came out more like a grimace.
He checked the time once more before deciding to take a sharp left towards an alley to cut some time from his journey ahead. The carollers faded in the distance. Everyone was already there and waiting in his father's house. He was twenty minutes late. Nothing out of the ordinary. He'd just make some excuse about his psychic signals going haywire from the spirits of Christmas, dazing him along the way. But he'd have to leave the part where he paraded through the shady alley out. He had the lecture of a lifetime when his father found out he had sauntered through a certain backstreet one day after school; and that was during the day time.
"If you ever cut through suspicious corners of streets again I will personally break your legs," Henry had warned. "Then you will spend the next several weeks watching graphic safety videos. You understand me, Shawn?"
Shawn inwardly shuddered at that memory, practically still picturing his father's threatening index finger opposite his nose and remembering a very similar incident with awfully detailed drunk driving videos. But he did what he usually does – ignore that annoying voice that sounded suspiciously like his father telling him he's about to do something impulsive. Shawn was an adult now. What was his father going to do?
As he paced through the eerily quiet alleyway, the area darkened with each step forward. Okay…this is creepy. At hearing a sudden sound behind him Shawn picked up the pace and began speed walking. He made another turn towards a corner to his right and strolled hastily down the path. Something hurdled out in front of him, making Shawn take a leap back, before realising it was harmless. Stupid cat, Shawn groaned, but then let a small smile falter at his pointless panic. Stupid dad and his stupid lectures, he bitterly thought.
He was almost back to civilisation when something suddenly made a grab for the neck of his navy hoodie beneath his leather jacket, and felt a swift push throwing him against the wall. A mouthful of air rushed out of his lungs from the unexpected encounter. When he finally overcame that sensation he found himself staring inches away from a scruffy man while he held a gun under his chin - roughly, Shawn might add. The man huffed against the faux-psychic's face, leaving Shawn to scrunch his features in recoil from the rank smell of the alcohol and only one thought crossing his mind…
Karma's a bitch.
"Give me all your money!" the man hissed.
Shawn raised his hands in a motion of surrender under the harsh grip of the mugger. "Okay, just…take it easy," he attempted to soothe. His mind flickered through a bundle of memories in hopes of finding a lesson in there his father may have taught him when facing this particular predicament. But it was hard to concentrate under the stress of the situation and pressure of his attacker. Not to mention that horrible alcoholic stench. Who in their right mind would think straight in a situation like this anyway?
"NOW!" The man shoved Shawn roughly against the wall, in sync with his callous demand.
"I'm going to reach for my wallet, alright?" Shawn kept his voice calm and levelled, despite fear sending chills down his spine and the sound of his blood pounding heavily in his ears, whilst his heart tried to thud its way out of his chest.
The mugger cautiously loosened his grip and stepped backward as Shawn reached for his back pocket.
"Here." Shawn took out the amount he currently had with him, totalling a sum of ten dollars.
"HURRY UP!" the man shook his gun at his victim.
"Alright, alright, take it easy, man," Shawn reiterated, hoping it would have registered in the mugger's mind by now, and slowly lifted the money towards his attacker as the filthy man snatched the money.
"That's all you have?" the stranger barked.
"That's all I have," Shawn slowly and calmly repeated.
Once that was out of the way, the mugger finally took a few more steps backwards, giving Shawn some time to take in details of his attacker's face.
And that's when it happened. Something had spooked the mugger. Shawn didn't know what it was. It could've been that stupid cat again for all he knew. But it was enough for the low-life to aim quickly and make a move.
Everything suddenly slowed. Shawn's hands rose with a blaring "NO!" as the simple move of a mere finger determined his fate. The bullet whizzed through the air and jarred into his chest. The impact left Shawn thrusting once more against the wall behind him. Then, as the shooter was no longer to be seen, Shawn felt his body slid down the wall, leaving a horrific trail of blood behind him, and fell sideways on the alley grounds, a pool of blood now encircling his form.
xXx
The hospital doors burst open by nurses and doctors as they shoved the current patient on the gurney towards a vacant surgery room.
"What do we have here?" the doctor demanded, his frenzied pace being matched by the others.
"Caucasian male, late twenties or early thirties, victim of a mugging - shot point blank in the chest," the paramedic filled in, hand on one side of the gurney.
"That's never good…" the doctor muttered.
"…late…need…fruitcake…dad will…kill me…" the patient mumbled.
"Sir, you have been shot. We are taking you to surgery as we speak. Can you tell me your name?" The patient continued mumbling incoherently, unaware of his surroundings.
"Do we have identification?" the doctor asked the paramedic.
"Victim's identified as Shawn Spencer."
The doctor's eyebrows furrowed in recognition. "The psychic?"
xXx
Henry turned to his clock again. It had been about twenty minutes since he hung up from his conversation with Shawn earlier, in which during the time his son should've bought that fruitcake he downright lied about getting beforehand.
There are some things that will never change – one of them being Henry's impeccable ability in catching his son's lies by the mere tone of his voice through a phone call; and the other being that horrible worry that had followed Henry ever since he became a parent. Granted, Shawn was an adult now and could face the big world on his own, but that constant concern for your child always lingers at the corner of a parent's mind. Henry was no different, even though everyone he had ever met knew him as the gruff detective, tough as nails, that stigma that nothing ever fazed him. But every time Shawn broke curfew as a child, even by five minutes, Henry couldn't shake off the worry churning in his stomach, even though he knew it was most likely nothing. And to this day, that still didn't change.
Henry looked at the time again. Ten more minutes flew by. He strolled into his brightly decorated living room with the sound of Christmas songs echoing in the background, where Karen, Detective O'Hara, Gus, a few other officers and, to his surprise, Lassiter, were talking jovially.
He took the scene in for a moment, allowing himself to smile at O'Hara and Gus pathetically attempting to Yahtzee while eating gingerbread, Karen watching them with an amused smile while she sipped from a glass of wine and Lassiter on the edge of his couch cushion, looking slightly uncomfortable at being there at all. "All I Want For Christmas Is You" blared over the speakers and Henry laughed when Juliet whooped in delight at having won the game. She raised her arms and did a half victory dance while Gus rolled his eyes and Lassiter actually let a smile slip into his expression for a fraction of a moment.
"That's it, we're playing Connect Four!" Gus reached for the bright blue box.
"Oh yeah?" Juliet teased. "I'll bet you the rest of my eggnog that I'll beat you at least twice."
"Spare me your half-drunk eggnog – I just want to see the look on your face when I maim you in this," Gus began setting up the play board.
Lassiter, apparently giving in to his eggnog-with-a-dash-of-some-sort-of-alcohol buzz, shouted, "I go against the winner!"
"Me next!" Buzz chimed in enthusiastically.
Henry had to admit, he was pissed as hell when Shawn sent out invitations about a Christmas gathering in his home without his permission (apparently Shawn's apartment was too small and the Psych office was in the midst of embellishment), but as the day of the festivity drew closer he felt his anger slowly diminish by, dare he say it, Christmas spirit. Henry is normally labelled as the Grinch any other day but these holidays. Any other holiday and he would've sent everyone packing through his door. Henry chuckled to himself and then realised that his cell phone was vibrating.
"Shawn, where the hell are ya'?" Henry sharply made a start, but had trouble hearing a response. He heard a voice. "Hello?" When he realised he couldn't get anywhere with the current noise he called out to his son's best friend. "Gus, turn down the volume."
Gus complied and turned to his side to face towards the stereo, turning the noise down.
"Shawn-"
"Hello?"
Wait a second. That was most definitely not Shawn. For one thing, it was a woman. "Who is this?" Henry momentarily pulled his phone away from his ear and checked the unknown number.
"Am I speaking to Henry Spencer?"
"Yes. Who is this?" Henry asked again, this time impatiently, earning a few concerned looks from his guests.
"This is Nurse Amelia from Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital. I'm calling on behalf of a…Shawn Spencer?" Henry's heart sank. "You are listed in his emergency contact list."
Henry took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. "What happened?" he calmly asked.
"I don't have the authorisation to discuss that matter over the phone. The police will-"
"The police?" This caught the attention of everyone in the house. "…I'll be there." Henry immediately disconnected the call and rushed to grab his jacket.
"Henry, is everything okay?" Karen's voice broke through the wall of silence.
The elder Spencer turned to face everyone else with a stony countenance. "That was the hospital. Something happened."
xXx
The retired cop rubbed his restless features, mauling away anything that represented the exhaustion that had been led through the past three weeks. He stretched his back with a few resounding clicks and breathed out a noisy sigh of fatigue.
Once he was dressed in his jeans and in one of a few of his less conspicuous, flowery Hawaiian shirts, he addressed his kitchen with quiet steps. Henry looked up to notice that Shawn was already up and sitting by the kitchen table, eating some scrambled eggs. Henry froze for a second to take in the scene.
"I thought you were going fishing today," Shawn began as he chewed his meal, not even looking up from his newspaper.
Henry blinked. Then finally said, "I could've cooked you breakfast."
Shawn exhaled a frustrated breath at the incompetence his father seemed to be insinuating. "I'm not totally useless in the kitchen you know."
"That's not what I-"
"Come. Sit. Eat. I made enough for two." His crisp tone left no room for a 'no'.
Henry approached the table cautiously and took a seat opposite his son. Without a further word, he ate in gratitude.
"Gus and I will be visiting the victim's wife later today," Shawn said, taking a sip of his pineapple juice.
The elder Spencer perked his head up in surprise. "Wait what? You're taking on a case?" He couldn't believe that his son was bouncing back so quickly. Henry knew he certainly hadn't been – it was like Shawn's denial left all the room for Henry to force the usual grief onto his own back. And it was starting to snap under the weight.
Shawn raised his eyebrows. "Well it is my job if you care to remember. Or have you been living out on your boat too long?" The jab inflicted a minor flinch upon Henry.
"Don't you think it's too soon?"
"Too soon?" Shawn leaned back. "It's been three weeks. I have a spiritual reputation to uphold. Besides, office space isn't cheap you know."
Henry leaned back on his chair. "I thought Gus was paying the rent."
Shawn shrugged. "He did last month. Now it's my turn."
"Since when do you ever pay your half?"
"Since now," Shawn said, a little harsher than intended. That quieted his father down. The pseudo-psychic sighed. "I'm going to the bathroom."
"Here, let me-"
"I can do it myself," Shawn barked, halting his father midway from standing.
Henry's anger at the retort quickly faded away, just like it has been doing more often than not, and placed himself back in his seat. He no longer withheld any rage towards his son; short, meaningless snaps yes, but no fury. He didn't even hold up much of a fight anymore, despite Shawn constantly asking for it. Henry sighed and watched as Shawn wheeled himself away from his line of sight.
xXx
Gus slammed shut the rear end of the car as he pulled out Shawn's currently needed facility. He opened the passenger door and supported Shawn's waist despite his best friend refusing the offer. Gus waved him off with a "don't be ridiculous, Shawn".
Everyone in the station stared; some with welcoming smiles, as if this were any other day, some with sympathetic expressions, and a few shocked looks at the change in appearance. But Shawn avoided contact with all of them, keeping his gaze straight ahead. He found it a little disconcerting, honestly – all these people had treated him the way he wanted to be marvelled at just weeks ago. And now because of what had happened, they would never again approach him the same. And the few whom actually approached him, including McNab and Allen, he had swayed them with his infamous devil-may-care smile. Fortunately, some people never changed.
Finally, Gus wheeled him passed the two most familiar detectives. Juliet looked up from the case file she had been discussing with her partner and watched the Psych duo breeze through the corridors and knocking on the Chief's door as if it was another typical day. O'Hara exchanged a mutually curious look with Lassiter before they both decided to follow the duo behind.
"Come in," Chief Vick signalled, then finally looking up in surprise. "Mr Spencer," she said warmly and a little more jovial than intended. "What can I do for you?" Her expression was something of a mask – didn't want to appear too sympathetic, as she'd learned was a recipe for disaster from Henry, Shawn mused.
"We're here for the case," Gus filled in. Lassiter and Juliet closed the door behind them.
"The case?" Karen furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.
Shawn posed his routine psychic stance. "I received major psychic juju from a Carl Wainwright."
"That's a discreet investigation, how do you even know about-" Karen paused, knowing it was pointless to even ask. "Nevermind. As I recall I didn't inquire your assistance. We've just about solved this case," Karen's voice then softened. "Thank you for coming down anyway. I'll let you know when we require your services." Apparently, the mask wasn't just that. She was going to treat him like everyone else had been doing. The chair didn't render him mentally incapable.
"And when will that be?" Shawn retorted bitterly, the past three weeks finally catching up to him. "Tomorrow? Next week? Four months from now? You all seem to think getting shot through the chest somehow affected my abilities to think." He wasn't about to let his minor setback keep him from doing what he had been the past few years. People loved routine. If it was upset, they got upset. He knew to blend in as best as he could. And by doing that, he needed to carry on, business as usual; which he couldn't do if everyone insisted on restricting him to the kiddie table.
"Shawn!" Gus exclaimed.
The faux-psychic ignored him. "I'm temporarily paraplegic, not mentally handicapped."
Juliet spoke up, "Nobody here thinks that, Shawn-"
"Oh I wouldn't be so sure about that, O'Hara," Lassiter cut in.
"CARLTON!" she screamed at her partner, while Chief Vick shot him a glare.
"I meant we all suspected there were a couple of screws loose since the day we had the misfortune of meeting you. What's really going on here-" Lassiter towered over Shawn, "-is that the Chief said she'd let you know when we need you. And right now, we don't; especially not for this case. So why don't you and Guster just run along and…"
Everyone stared at him silently before Lassiter finally took the time to register his last few words. He cleared his throat. "You know what I mean," he grunted before carrying on with his ranting. "And like you said yourself, it's temporary. So stop with the hissy fit, Bieber, and take the damn leave."
Shawn let out a frustrated breath for the second time today but didn't say anything, even though the detective totally deserved a jab for comparing him to the amateur brat of all divas. He swung his wheels crisply, punctuating his statement. Gus held the door open for him. "By the way," Shawn uttered, "you might want to recheck the wife's alibi." With that, the two made their way down towards an entrance without stairs.
"Don't listen to him, Shawn. You were more of a Barbra Streisand."
Shawn smiled sincerely. "Thanks buddy," not just for the normalcy, but for the only one who is keeping up with the routine all this time, even though his remark was just as bad. Couldn't they think of a manlier comparison?
"Maybe more of a Nicolas Cage…" Shawn muttered with a pout.
"Did you say something, Shawn?" Gus said from behind, continuously pushing his best friend.
"I would make a badass Johnny Blaze," Shawn replied with an enthusiastic smile.
Gus snorted. "And set your hair on fire? I'd pay to see that."
Shawn shot him an incredulous look. "Are you insane? I'd sell my soul before letting anything happen to my heirloom." Shawn pursed his lips in thought. "Hairloom?"
Gus furrowed his eyebrows. "That's kinda the whole point, Shawn." The faux-psychic let out a little sneeze. "Bless you."
"Couldn't you say 'gesundheit' like a normal American?" Shawn said and continued with their conversation. "Let's say I'd keep my hair while it's on fire. I'd be a sexier, more smarter Johnny Blaze."
Gus playfully rolled his eyes and snorted at his grammatical issues. "Firstly, it's a German word for health. So technically, it'd be like a normal German. Secondly, 'more' smarter? Really, Shawn? You might wanna go for a 'more' realistic attribute."
"Charm, I totally hook up with Eva Mendes."
"I said realistic, Shawn." The pharmaceutical salesman helped his friend into the passenger seat.
"Realistic like a pharmaceutical representative providing the key piece of information in a baffling police case without running and screaming like a little girl?
Gus shot him a glare. "When are you gonna let that go?" He walked towards the rear of his company car, placing the wheelchair into a suitable position in the trunk. He walked round and sat in the driver seat.
"When it stops being funny," Shawn remarked. "It still has a few chuckles left."
Gus turned on the ignition. "Can you actually find any similarities between you and the skull head?"
"I do have the leather jacket and the motorcycle."
xXx
When she watched her physically traumatised friend and his associate walk through the Chief's door Juliet turned to her partner with a glare. "What the hell is the matter with you?"
Carlton raised his eyebrows and took a few steps back from his heated partner. "The matter? I'm the same as always."
"Exactly!" Carlton shot her a confused look. "I get that Shawn isn't exactly a person you easily tolerate but toying with his emotions like that is just…cruel!"
"What are you on about, O'Hara?"
"Detectives!" Chief Vick attempted to intervene. But the two didn't seem to hear her.
Juliet picked a word from her partner's previous rant. "Temporary, Carlton? Are you intentionally trying to raise his hopes just so you can finally have your chance to crush his spirit?"
Carlton, taken aback, surprisingly felt offended by the accusation, but quickly regained his posture. "Oh, you're right. Better to treat him like a mentally challenged invalid."
Juliet mirthlessly snorted. "You're unbelievable."
"DETECTIVES!" The fighting duo halted immediately and turned to their boss. Karen continued, "If you have nothing further to inform me about the case then I suggest the both of you offer a little visit to our victim's wife for a revaluation."
"But chief-" Lassiter sputtered.
"What's the matter, Carlton? You don't think Shawn's competent enough do to his job?" Juliet smiled smugly.
Lassiter wasn't about to back down from the whole speech he fought to keep and decided to let a grimacing smile escape as a sign to continue with the investigation. As they both headed out to dig further into the suggested tip, they closed their Chief's office door behind them.
Karen sighed and sat back down, rubbing her temple with ease. Maybe it really was time for Shawn to come back. Frankly, she only gave him the leave to help him adjust to his new lifestyle, temporary or not, and additionally offered a counsellor to help him through it (to which he expectedly refused). She wanted to make sure her young (faux, because she was still uncertain for that validity) psychic had the whole support system, including the shoulder of the SBDP behind him. They tried to track down the cause of the consultant's injury but had retrieved no leads. Ultimately, Spencer's case had been slowly buried under all the murders and robberies that were taking place to this day. But Karen still refused to let it go cold under the favours she owed for her old friend, Henry, and maybe under her own need to catch this scumbag. Karen felt she owed the strangely likeable consultant that much.
The sharp ringing of her telephone snapped Karen out of her wandering thoughts. She cleared her throat and ended the incessant ringing
"This is Chief Vick." She nodded listening to the other line. "Call in the forensics and send in a troop of officers. I'm on my way."
She stood up and grabbed her jacket. Picking out her mobile phone she fumbled over a speed-dialled number. Looks like the psychic consultant might be back in the game quicker than she had hoped.
TBC
In all honesty, this story will continue depending on the amount requests I'll receive for it. So review if you would like to see where it's going.
Otherwise, thanks a bunch for reading :)
Huge thanks to MegalegU for encouraging me to write (or more like nagging...but you didn't hear that from me).