Juliet quickly realized that Shawn was only quiet when he was unconscious, and sometimes not even then.
She raised one hand, letting her fingertips brush delicately across his forehead and leaving a small smear of blood near his hairline. She felt him shiver beneath her, a sign he was going into shock, and knew time was running out.
"C'mon, Spencer," Lassiter said, his voice a low growl as he pressed harder onto the gushing chest wound. "You're not dying on my watch." There was no response, no witty comment from the psychic, and their only reassurance that he was still hanging on was a wet, rasping breath.
Juliet could think of many times Shawn had interrupted her while she was working with some loud comment or prank on Lassiter, and as much as he amused her, sometimes she prayed for silence.
Now the silence was her biggest fear.
Another wet cough, and it seemed Shawn had come to, because he slurred, "Why're you cryin', Jules?"
She hadn't even noticed, and then a hot tear escaped before she could brush it away, falling and mixing with the blood on Shawn's forehead. "Like you don't know," she whispered teasingly, seeing the red that flecked his lips as he coughed again.
"I...I'm sorry," Shawn stuttered, flinching as Lassiter added pressure with a bear-like growl. He was losing the fight, he knew, his breaths coming short and softer, but he didn't want to worry them. He couldn't see their faces anymore, and he just wanted to see Jules one last time.
"Just hang on, Shawn. You'll be okay..." Juliet whispered encouragingly, though she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.
"Jules...I'm sorry." He didn't see the alarm cross her face, or feel the tears hitting his shirt.
"Shawn...Shawn!"
"Dammit, Spencer, wake up...Shawn, wake up!"
The plea was met with silence.
