Requiem of Lies
Summary: It was all a lie...it always had been. A con, a farce...an extremely fabricated truth lost long ago in myriads of lies. What happens when it's no longer a lie? What happens...when Shawn finds himself trying to fight off real visions? His health is depleting, his friendship is straining, and he hasn't had a single pineapple smoothie since it all started...and strangely enough...only Detective Lassiter is ready to help him, but why?!
Rated: Hopefully D...for Dirty Goodness!
But I'll put M just to be on the safe side.
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
TV Show: Psych
-x-x-x-
(Earlier)
The day had started off as normal as any other. No one could assume he knew it would end in the way it did. An accident...a really...really bad accident.
It started with a lazy morning, watching rerun episodes of Teen Titans and Jeopardy, while channel flipping between commercials and even occasionally pausing on The People Court to see who Marilyn Milian chose to direct her anger at first and who found themselves under her gavel by the end of the session.
The day had continued to the police precinct, where Shawn had placed himself on a missing person's case, which had sadly ended in murder, which he'd solved miraculously through his psychic connections. Of course, this farce was for the most part looked at with awe and curiosity, though Gus knew better, and Lassiter believed he otherwise...he just had no proof to stake his claim.
Yes, poor Lassie would do most anything if he knew it would dish out the dirt on Shawn Spencer, the SBPD's personal on-call psychic. Shawn liked that about the Head Detective. For one reason or another, he truly liked the Detective. The aggressive, intelligent, Civil War loving, non-psychic believing, when push comes to shove...shoot..., Carlton Lassiter. He had burrowed a bullet in Shawn's Heart and Shawn was never getting it removed, no matter the pain, it was there to stay.
After solving the case, and of course, getting into another heated argument with Lassiter about his third eye, he had surprisingly taken off in an abnormally out of character huff. He was mad, but normally, he'd have just shrugged off Lassiter's insult with a well-placed jab at his choice of tie color or his Irish Hairline which...let's be honest...Shawn loved Lassie's hair, and the hair line, and the line itself...really, everything about the headstrong detective, screamed touch me! But he had gotten angry this time. He did hop on his motorcycle and flee the scene in a fit of irritable rage. And damn it to all which is holy, despite the rain clouds he'd seen, he drove recklessly out of town until he was far enough away and had cooled down enough that he could think civilly once more.
He turned his bike back, wanting to get back before the downpour, but he was stuck driving with the torrential rainstorm over his head, and under his wheels. It was that left turn on Castillo Street that sent him spiraling towards another car, his wheels reacting to the hydroplaning, and yet, by some miracle, he turned his bike in time to avoid the vehicle. Stopping by a phone line, he pulled his helmet off and cut the engine of his bike, shaking his head as he tried to gather his bearings once more before driving. He was so close to the SBPD, seven streets away. What could possibly happen in such a short distance?
The day had started off as normal as any other. No one could assume he knew it would end in the way it did.
-x-x-x-
(Presently)
Carlton was about to finish up the reports on the case he'd earlier had the misfortune of handing over to Spencer. Of course he had to fill out the reports, never Spencer, after all, he's no cop. Carlton glared at the papers and signed his name at the bottom left hand before putting them on the corner of his desk to be placed on Chief Vicks desk. He was about to pack up when his scanner made noise before the familiar voice of McNabb sounded on the other side.
"We have a psychic down. I repeat, Psychic Down. Dispatch, we have a 15-D-7 on the corner of Castillo Street and W Figueroa Street, requesting EMS immediately."
"15-D-7..." Carlton frowned, "fifteen...that's electricity...D-7 is abnormal breathing." He picked up his scanner while motioning for Juliet who had just been about to grab her keys. "Copy that McNabb, O'Hara and I are heading that way, hang steady. EMS should be there shortly."
Juliet made the call for EMS to head to the location McNabb had given as she and Carlton left the station.
Arriving seven streets away from the SBPD, they spotted McNabb in the rain, ignoring the downpour as he kneeled in front of a lone body, the damage around the bike gave way to what had happened. Lightning...Spencer had been hit by lightning.
"Oh god...Shawn!" Juliet ran to McNabb, having not considered what she might see, but as soon as she was close enough, she had to take a step back. "What's wrong with him...Carlton!?"
Carlton had taken the time to pull on the black rain trench coat to try and keep the most of the rain off of his suit, stepping up alongside McNabb and O'Hara, his eyes widened much the same as theirs. Shawn lay without so much as a burn, but there was a piece of his own motorcycle embedded into his stomach, but that wasn't what had them...confused. It was his eyes. His eyes were shaking, then bouncing back and forth, unfocused, moving, zigzagging, as if trying to follow something or someone with his eyes, but they were moving too fast for him to keep up.
EMS sirens could be heard around the corner and they all watched as the EMS medics got out and tended to their...friend.
Carlton sighed, "O'Hara, call Gus, and Henry, let Chief Vick know what happened, I'm taking the EMS to see what I can learn. I'll meet the two of you at the hospital." Carlton finished his instructions to Juliet as he handed her the keys and climbed into the back of the EMS while leaving Buzz and Juliet to watch the EMS leave before Juliet did as told.
-x-x-x-
Me: Here is chapter one.