"Gus, please," the request broke through the heavy silence of the night.
"No," Gus announced firmly from the chair situated at the foot of his best friend's bed.
Gus heard the covers rustle slightly as his friend shifted and he propped his feet up on top of the foot of the bed. Ah, blissful silence.
The peace did not last long before Shawn shattered it again, "Pretty please, with sprinkles on top."
Resisting the urge to groan, Gus thanked his good fortune that it was too dark to see his friend's pouting face, "No way, Shawn."
Sudden blinding light temporarily disoriented Gus, and Shawn coupled it with another weak request, "But, Gus, you said..."
Quickly blinking away spots from Shawn's turning on the light--in a futile attempt to wake him up more quickly, Gus argued back, "I know what I said Shawn. My duties pertaining to your recovery do not include trips to the store at two in the morning."
"But Gus, don't be a stick in the mud. You gotta help me out," pleaded Shawn employing all of the charm he possessed—knowing that it was only a matter of time before his best friend folded.
Folding his arms across his chest in an attempt to visually support his case, Gus stated vehemently, "I refuse to go to store at TWO in the MORNING just for you. You are NOT a pregnant woman with late night cravings."
"Firstly, comparing me to a pregnant woman is just wrong," began Shawn sounding more like himself than he had in the past thirty-six hours, "And Two, it's not like I can just hop on my bike and go to store."
"No, Shawn, you had to be the one to get poisoned from the left-over Thai that happened to be sitting on the counter at yesterday's crime scene. It's your own fault you had to get your stomach pumped," replied Gus seriously.
In all actuality, Shawn had been remarkably lucky with all the police and EMS personnel walking around, because in less than an hour he was taken to the hospital to have his stomach pumped of the poisoned Thai that was responsible for three deaths in Santa Barbara already. Of course, they had not known about it going into the crime scene.
Gus shuddered at how still the normally animated fake-psychic had gone. The terror he felt during the ordeal still ran strong within him, and it was no wonder that he was having trouble sleeping.
Looking at the mournful look the fake psychic arranged his features into, Gus countered forcefully; "I'm not going to do it. Go back to sleep Shawn."
Playing with the edge of the blanket, Shawn pouted, "But Gus, it's for pineapple."
Loathing the sway his friend held on his feelings, Gus clarified, "For pineapple?"
"For Pineapple," Shawn replied in smug triumph.
Ten minutes later Gus pulled into the vacant parking lot of the local supermarket. Exiting his little blue car he walked up to read the sign on the store door.
'Open until 2am.'
Looking down at his watch, Gus cringed, "2:11am."
I'm gonna kill him.