Written for a prompt on Psychfic. Please read, review, and most importantly, enjoy :)

Shawn sighed heavily, watching his breath turn frosty. Though at first it had been mildly entertaining to watch the moist air from his lungs freeze, it had gotten old. Quickly.

They had been in here for how long now? He had no way of telling the time, since he could no longer force his fingers to operate the touch screen on his phone. They were stiff and numb, and whenever he grazed the screen he left a residue of red liquid. His phone was moving sluggishly in the unbearable cold anyways, hesitating to even bring up the unlocking screen.

Almost wistfully, he drew it out, smoothing his fingers across the labeled cover. The cheerful green color was cold in the blue-ish lighting, adding to the cool aura of the freezer.

He released a hopeless chuckle as he glanced at the room whose nuances he had long since memorized. White ice coated metal walls that pulled skin away when touched. Aluminum shelves shimmered frozenly in the cool light, which emanated from a florescent bulb that couldn't decide whether to turn off or on, and showed no favoritism by flickering between both continually. Stacks of cardboard boxes filled with ice cream sandwiches, fudge bars, and the fixings for sundaes slumped against the walls with a disturbingly soggy appearance.

And all of those details did him absolutely no good.

Shawn darted through the warehouse door, brandishing the tire iron he had stolen from the trunk of Gus's car. No one was in the enormous building, which made it a perfect time to sleuth. Pulling out the phone that he had tucked into his jeans pocket, his finger slid over to the speed dial and pressed against his best friend's name.

"Hello?" Gus picked up groggily.

Shawn grinned. As soon as he bothered to look at the caller-ID, Gus would be furious—and awake.

"Hey buddy!"

"Shawn!"

There it was. "Look, I need you to help me with a case."

"It's one o'clock in the morning, Shawn, no way am I going to drive out to who-knows-where and help you stake out some guy who, chances are, has only ever gotten in trouble for waiting too long to fill his parking meter." Gus sounded disgusted, and every amount of sleepiness that had been in his voice before had wormed its way out.

"Gus, everybody has something to hide."

"Even you?"

"Of course! It just so happens that you know everything I have to hide, though."

"I'm hanging up."

"Wait, Gus! This is more than a random case! Some girl came by the office this morning… or is it yesterday morning now?"

"Technically? Yesterday."

"Yeah, yesterday, and she said she was in big trouble and that she needed our help."

"If she needed our help, why did you wait until now to tell me?"

"Because, Gus." Shawn paused and sighed, reluctant to hurt his friend's feelings by revealing what a wet blanket he sometimes was. "Sometimes you can be a bit… hesitant to investigate cases like this."

"Like what? Is this another ghost case, Shawn? Because I have made it clear how I feel about those."

"No, nothing like that. Well, not exactly. It doesn't really involve the supernatural." He carefully scooted his way around the topic, deliberately piquing Gus's curiosity.

"If it involves normal people, normal situations, and normal murders, I have no problem with cases!" Gus protested, the speaker suddenly seeming loud in the darkness.

"Yeah, well, the person in the case is mostly normal."

"Mostly?"

"Yeah… This girl thinks that there might be a psychopath hanging out around her property after hours."

"A psychopath? No way is this our jurisdiction, Shawn!"

"Our jurisdiction? Do we even have that? We're a private detective service."

"It's dangerous to go hunting for someone like that! You should call the police."

"Yeah, but she wanted it handled… delicately."

"Why?" Gus paused, and Shawn knew he was working some things out. "Exactly how old is this 'girl'?"

"Using my skills of approximation and deduction, in which I am not lacking, I might add, I would guess… 44? Forty-seven at the most."

"Why 47?"

"Because, Gus! You know how I feel about prime numbers."

"A personal sentiment puts a cap on your estimation of someone's age." Gus stated skeptically.

"Nah, I just felt like, since it's a prime number, I should give it a shout-out. I'm done now."

"So, is the psychopath this 'girl's' son?"

"… It's a vague possibility."

"What did she want you to do that the police can't do?"

Shawn paused guiltily. He knew that the kid belonged in some sort of mental hospital that was prepared to deal with him, but his mother had been so… involved. She really cared about her child, and, mother of a psychopath or no, he couldn't make himself say, "Sorry, no can do, call the police and release your kid to a psychiatric hospital that will probably keep him in a white room with four padded walls 24-7."

Gus had figured it out too. "Shawn, we can't just give him to his mom. It'll put a lot of people in danger, including her."

"I know, she just… she kind of reminded me of my mom."

He heard a loud sigh that crackled through the speakers, followed by the thump of something landing on the floor. "Okay, I'll come. Where are you?"