AN: Lovin' the reviews here and on AO3! Guys I'm kinda liking this story so tell me what you think! It's for you so tell me what you like! Want to know more about something then tell me! Want less of something? Friggin shout it out! There's a little Q & A in this, I guess! I need your reviews to know where to go!

Where do you see this going? What are you afraid of? What do you hope for?! Tell the great me!

Warning: references to past suicide. General warnings. Suicidal thoughts, suicidal actions, overly poetic scentences, etc.

Carlton Lassiter was perceptive, no matter what Shawn or Gus thought. He didn't notice physical details as well as some officers, or put clues together as quickly, but he could read guilt like others read books. Emotions were easy for the head detective, he had a talent in spotting the shadows hidden inside. He could see through people, past the physical details and right into their eyes. The way the tilted their mouth, quirked their eyebrow, or wrestled with their fingers. It told him stories, it told him of lies, of pain, of happiness.

That's why he was the head detective.

He could break people with his eyes, and he knew it. He had control over what shadows passed in his pupils, how the blue shimmered, how his eyebrow rose just that centimeter. He knew what look to contort his face into, the perfect face for each suspect, the stare that tore them to pieces. Carlton had a talent for spotting things that slithered under the surface, things people thought they could hide. He always saw.

Until Shawn.

It's not that he didn't see, because he did. A loch ness monster under the sea in the psychic's eyes, something slithering and turning within the man. A beast waiting to be set free, he could see it, even if no one else even seemed to suspect a thing. Not Juliet, or Henry, or even Gus. No one saw the darkness, no one except Lassiter.

The problem that bloomed from this realization was this: Shawn was good. He must've been playing this game for a while. He could hide like no one else, and it didn't matter how long Carlton seeked, he always had to give up and raise a white flag. He'd watched Shawn for a while now, ever since he'd first noticed. He remembered the day well, because it was the slowest he'd ever been in discovering someone's lies.

Carlton always knew Shawn wasn't a psychic, but whatever he was, he was good. The detective was annoyed to admit that, in fact, Shawn was a respectable detective, even if he pretended that wasn't what he was. He thought that was the only secret within Spencer that he didn't see, until that day.

He'd been on a role, nine cases solved, the entire department behind him. He always had good months like this once in a while, he lived for them. Then Spencer showed up, grinning as always; but there was something hiding behind it. Everyone noticed, they assumed it was jealousy, but Carlton knew jealousy and the shadows within Shawn Spencer were anything but. He started watching more closely than, listening for undertones inside of the jokes.

"Do you think about jumping off a cliff often?"

"...Maybe…"

The chief had taken it seriously for only a second, but the entire conversation was dismissed. Spencer was to happy-go-lucky for that, he was too confident, too clever. Oh, but Carlton knew what he'd heard. Slithering, sliding, gasping for a breath just to be heard was the plea sown deep within the syllables. A voice, dying and drowning, within the young man, hoping that one person would hear, one person might care.

That was when Lassiter started watching.

It was becoming more and more obvious now that he paid attention, that he took of the rose colored glasses. The fog Spencer swirled around himself thinning with every day that passed, the little things becoming glowing neon signs.

Hitches under his voice, subtle, soft, barely there. Twitches in his fingers, the shifting of his eyes when he made a joke, the tight line around his smile that he hadn't been able to smooth. The last clue though, the final straw, was the way he looked out windows. It may seem to be an odd clue, something you wouldn't notice, but Carlton saw it. He stared at the open air above the ground like an addict looked at a bottle; longing, regret and suffocating need braiding itself inside their gut until they were choking.

And one day, one word, one moment of weakness and the bitter taste would fill their mouths again, and they wouldn't be able to pull themselves from the sea.

The way Spencer stared out windows made Lassiter's chest tighten. Like the man was about to throw the glass from it with his mind, step just that much closer, and let himself slip away. Slip from everyone's fingers and he could see that Shawn knew no one would understand. He must've been playing the act for years now, he was a master.

Carlton watched him closely when he looked outside, staring into the sky like a child would stare after a retreating parents back. It made him want to hold the younger man close, tell him the oxygen between the concrete and the sky would never give him the escape he wanted.

What kind of escape was death?

A final one, Carlton supposed.

Maybe that was what Shawn wanted, and Carlton understood that. To push the buzzing from his head, the laughter hanging at the base of his skull, the smirks burnt into his eyelids. He knew what it felt like to want to erase his brain, to make the wild fire in his thoughts flicker out. The last time he'd felt like that was when his wife left him, but he never was going to give up. He had a job, he knew how it felt to be happy and he was focused on getting there again.

Perhaps, then, Shawn simply didn't know.

Being happy was an art Carlton barely perfect before it was snatched from him by the greedy world. He got a taste, and it was like the best wine to ever reach his tongue. Now he sought it out, searching for treasure like Indiana Jones. He'd had the wine within his grasp many times before, but always let it slip away, fall into an abyss where he could never reach it .

Carlton had made his heart walk a wire over a Nigara falls of broken glass to reach that happiness, and he knew he'd been brave to let himself take the risk. He'd usually fallen into the shards, been torn to bloody shreds, but once in a while he made it across.

So, maybe Shawn never took the risk.

Did that put him in more danger, or less? Carlton was unsure at first, maybe keeping your already chipped heart to yourself would protect you. It was a theory many people tried to practice, maybe Spencer had simply succeeded. Carlton tossed the idea around for a few days, still keep his watch over the young man.

Then one day Shawn came to the precinct with water dripping from every inch of his body, shivers trailing their way up and down his spine, and teeth beating themselves blunt. He saw Carlton first, since the detective was leaving, and there was pain so deep it made the detectives breath flee his lungs. There were so many swirling things inside the eyes he'd been careful to track. Hopelessness, like usual, but there was something new there. The twisting gray, that was searching the detectives face in confusion, held a betrayal beyond words.

Carlton knew in his heart, somewhere in the beating muscle, that Shawn was in danger. Shawn was going to do something stupid, maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon. He'd been living in breath taking, Shakespearean agony for his entire life, and he was strong, but no one was undefeatable. Spencer couldn't hold himself up forever, and one day he'd crash, and it would be spectacular. Carlton knew that. He knew that when Spencer finally fell that he'd tumble, he'd twist and he'd leave the world quivering in his wake. Like a supernatural force he would take the earth down in beautiful torture, if only for a moment, and people would feel it for decades.

Spencer could do that.

"What happened to you?" Carlton finally asked after what could be considered a touchable silence. both men had studied each other, Spencer's eyes raking over his body, but Carlton's staying firmly on the other man's face.

"B-b-bike g-g-got st-st-stolen." Spencer growled, but Carlton saw the lie before he heard it. The light flashing over his eyes meant it was more, it was personal, but Spencer look ready to tear the world down with bleeding fingers. The detective wasn't stupid.

"Take a cab next time, it's pouring." Carlton tried for exasperation, but worry trickled in like poison. Spencer noticed, the pain in his eyes dying just the little bit. Carlton spun on his heels and stomped back up the stairs, hearing the slapping of wet feet behind him. The detective turned into the break room, dropping to a crouch to pull open a cupboard no one ever used. The smell of mothballs mixed with the thick, bitter scent of lukewarm coffee as Carlton dug through the items within. The slush sloshing of wet jeans swishing behind him as Spencer shifted to get warmer. "Stop moving, you're making noise. It's annoying."

"I'm c-c-cold!" Spencer pouted, and Carlton almost stiffened at the actual, touchable happiness that glided in and out of the mans voice. The detective ignored the thoughts as he finally pulled an old blanket from the back. Light blue and fraying around the edges, it looked like one of the itchy but warm things his grandmother would make him sleep with on December nights. He shoved it into Spencer's shaking, blue hands and was startled by the grin he received in return. It was even a little sincere, around the edges.

"Then cover up, genius." Carlton muttered, cutting around Spencer as he pulled the old thing around him self. The detective had no idea what he had been on his way to do when he'd met Spencer in the hall, but he knew one thing.

He had to help him.

Carlton knew Spencer would notice being followed. The man had quick wit and sharp eyes, it was almost scary the things he could notice. So the detective spent a week waiting, calculating, and finally discovering where Spencer went to every night. It took a few favors and more than a few awkward conversations, he got an address.

It turned out Spencer walked their every night, making himself easy to track,Carlton assumed it was on purpose. The more you hide the more suspicious you are. So after a week of...well in all honesty, stalking, Carlton got his address.

The his stomach fell to the floor.

It was a seven story office that was mostly abandoned after ten o'clock at night. The street was vacant except for the few stragglers from parties, and there were no homes in the vicinity. If Spencer were to do something stupid, it would be on top of that building.

So Carlton followed.

He watched, squinting as the moon outlined a figure, close to the edge but in no danger. Street lights spun a web with the stars, creating a mesmerizing scene floating just out of Carlton's reach. The silence, punctuated by the screams of a siren in the distant city, curled around the figure, around Shawn Spencer. It held him in it's arms, so secure, so safe, and so breakable. Like resting a finger on a spiders web, one false movement and everything could crumble away and you would never be able to reweave the creation.

Shawn moved just a breath closer to the edge and Carlton felt his entire body cease. Muscle tensing under his skin, like metal wires, immovable. His lungs refusing air, his heart beating fast enough to power a city. Wide eyes staring, pleading with Spencer's mistress, the nights, begging it to let him go. Begging the world, the God he didn't believe in, to uncoil from around the man. Bargaining silently as his body stood like a statue in the shadows, hidden away as his mind whirled into a panic.

Carlton didn't know why he felt so desperate to hold Shawn there, to force the young man with the silence of his mind to stand where he was, to not let go yet. All he knew was he wouldn't allow him to fall, he would bend the world around his fingers and break time over his knee to keep Shawn from the ledge.

A reason crawled into his mind, whispering in an acid like voice, but he threw it with the force of a God. He would not believe that, he couldn't let that happen. His only job was to try and help Spencer, to hold him away from the edge. He was just doing what was best for the department, they needed their wonder boy, even if LAssiter was loath to admit that.

Carlton watched- feeling air dance into his lungs like a blessed prayer, his muscle finally untangling themselves-as Shawn turned from the edge, from his secret love of the open air and the concrete that lay at the end of it, and slammed the door shut on the roof. He watched as Shawn came out to greet the place he would've lied, where his blood would've cooled. He watched as Shawn's back went pin straight before his shoulder hunched inwards and he nearly doubled over.

He took every ounce, every breath of self control within the man to not run to his colleague. He watched with a bitter taste heavy on his tongue as the bitter air of the vacant street held Shawn in it's lying, unforgiving arms and he fell apart. Carlton also watched as Shawn taped his persona back together, sticking shards of glass together with Elmer glue, knowing they would all topple over again.

Carlton saw the truth, he'd seen it for a few weeks now, but now he felt it. He felt the coldness, the numbness that he'd locked away those years ago.

"John listen, this isn't...this isn't worth it." Twenty two and already wiser than most adults, a boy with wire muscles and ebony hair pleaded with his best friend, his only friend, his love. "You're important, you know that. You're important to me." Tears, burning like fire flickering in Pacific blue eyes, usually so calm and under control, now tormented with agony and grief. Worst of all was the guilt hidden inside the black of the pupils as he stared at the gun pressed against the man he loved's temple.

"Oh Carly…" The soldier sounded far beyond his years, sounded like a drowning man, finally given up. "I love you."

Carlton shook the memory away, his past wasn't allowed to effect this. Shawn maybe a nuisance, but he was an important one; and Carlton was the only one who knew the world might lose him.