No references to any episodes this time you are SAFE! Also *insert disclaimer saying I don't own Psych here*
"Breakfast!"
Shawn lifted his head from his pillow, drool clinging to his face, and then fell forward once more to snuggle with his comforter. He squeezed his eyes shut to try to block out the repeated calls and—They were knocking on doors now. No. No. No. The comforter was yanked over his head right as the door to his room burst open.
"Mr. Spencer, breakfast!" the nurse called. He could hear her footsteps round his roommate's bed and stop next to his own. Her hand gently touched his shoulder. "Are you hungry?" The man-shaped bundle groaned and attempted to pull his pillow over his head to block out her voice. "I'll give you a few tips," she said as she sat on the edge of his bed. "We nurses have to take notes on our patients all day. Today you've got me, lucky right?" When she got no response she continued. "We have a chart to mark down if the patient has eaten all three meals for the day, if they've been social, gone to all of the therapy sessions, and how long they've slept that day." She smiled slightly when she saw more signs of life from her patient. "A negative mark on any of those options gives your treating doctor a reason to keep you here longer."
Shawn shot up at those words. "I'm awake! Food here I come!" The nurse moved a hand to cover up her laugh. When he heard this, he stuck his bottom lip out into a pout and crossed his arms across his chest. "I hope you're laughing because you're excited to show me your secret pineapple room. I could go for some of that delicious tropical flavor right now."
"No pineapples, but we do have apples and grapes."
A disgusted look took over Shawn's once happy expression. "All you've got are apples? I've got to get out of here!" He closed his eyes and put a hand to his head just like he would during a psychic reading. "Gus! Gus, use your magic head powers so you can hear me! Break me out, dude! I'm going to starve here!"
"Apples and grapes," the nurse corrected as she stood, staring at him in amusement.
"Right, apples and mini apples," he pouted. Thankfully the nurse didn't bother to correct him this time. He looked back at her before he stepped out into the hall, a sly smirk twitching at his lips. "Any chance I can pay you to say I was a wonderful patient all day?"
"Go!" The woman ordered, pointing.
"Maaaan! That's cold!" Shawn threw his head back and his hands in the air in rage, and then stormed out the door. He screamed over his shoulder, "I thought you were one of the cool nurses! I was wrong! You're not cool! Totally not cool!"
Now that morning activities were over, Shawn could finally settle down and think. For one, this place wasn't so bad. A bit stricter than the place he'd gone undercover in, but still simple and relaxed. The one thing that bothered him the most was how cramped it was compared to the free-roam West Haven Psychiatric Hospital. The doors locked them away from the outside and only officials had the key to freedom. Plus, he had a roommate whom he'd never even met. He could only go by the silly nametag on their door: Shawn S. and Rodney C.
Who the hell name's their kid Rodney? Well…if you put it in perspective, the name Guster still beat Rodney out on the ever growing, 'Why the hell…' list. Rodney didn't even make it to his current top five: Why the hell was he born as Henry Spencer's son? Why the hell would anyone play underwater hockey? Why the hell does Jules refuse to wear the sexy pineapple lingerie he'd bought her? Why the hell hasn't Lassie noticed the rotting mini milk carton he'd hidden in his desk? Why the hell hasn't he demanded he and his 'dad' take a DNA test?
For the past few hours he'd ignored the man's real name and had gone with 'G-Rod', an abbreviation for 'Ghost Rodney'. He'd never met the man so why not assume he was a ghost? Hell, they'd even slept in the same room and Shawn couldn't remember seeing him that night. The more he thought about it the more his curiosity got the best of him, until finally he sought out a nurse.
"What do you need?" She asked. Her nose was so far into her book he was surprised she hadn't fallen into its pages.
"I would like a roommate change," Shawn stated.
As if memorized, she began to rattle off reasons he might want to switch. "Has he touched you sexually, has he made threats on your life, are you uncomfortable with his diagnosis, have you had a disagreement, are there religious reasons?" She licked a finger and then turned the page to her novel.
"No, I believe he's a ghost."
This got the nurse's attention. "Are you currently on meds or waiting on meds?"
"No, no, don't get me wrong!" Shawn rushed, trying to wave off her suspicious thoughts. "I'm not crazy!" Her brow rose but due to professionalism she remained quiet. "I'm not crazy!" Shawn tried to verify with a more stern tone. "I've just never seen the guy!"
"Rodney?" She asked. Shawn nodded and tracked her pointing finger to a man probably ten years his junior. "Still think your roommate is a ghost?"
Shawn smiled playfully. Consequences be damned. "Yes, in fact I do."
"You've seen him now. You have no reason to believe that he's a ghost."
"But have I physically touched his hand?" The woman hesitated. "The answer is 'no', therefore G-Rod is still my ghost roommate until I can prove he's a solid human being." He let out an inner whoop of joy when he saw that, even as he walked away, the nurse had yet to get back to her reading. Instead, she took to staring after him and blinking as if waking from some strange dream.
"Hey, new guy!" Shawn wheeled around to find the voice. Surprisingly, it was Rodney who was waving him over to their three-man group. "You're my roommate! They told us you would be coming!" The fake psychic did a 360 to confirm he was the one being called.
Did hanging out with crazy people legitimately instead of interviewing them for an investigation make him look crazy? If so, pretending he was blind and deaf was totally an option.
"I think you got a weirdo for a roommate," he heard someone laugh. "He's probably talking with his voices."
"Another schizo on our floor," another voice within the group laughed. "Just what we need."
Seriously? Crazy people making fun of crazy people? Shouldn't this place be more accepting? But then again he had just been considering saying some not so accepting words only moments ago.
"I'm not schizophrenic." Shawn smiled politely and joined the group of men. His hands found their way into his robe pockets, not sure what to do with them, or himself in general when they were staring so intently at him. Funny, usually he was the one surveying people, not the other way around.
"We know," Rodney announced. He elegantly shuffled a deck of cards in his hands and led them all to a nearby table. "Herb here's the one with that. You look too normal to have it."
This granted Rodney a playful shove from said schizophrenic. "I'm proud of my voices!"
"Yeah, it's never boring in your head, huh?" Rodney joked. "You should try bipolar. Hearing music? Feeling high on a really good day? The best!"
"If I wanted to hear music and be unreasonably happy I would just smoke weed and listen to my iPod," Herb shot back while adjusting the glasses on his face. One of the other patients at a nearby table bit their lip to muffle their amusement at the sudden bickering.
The fake psychic found that watching the group have a conversation felt comfortable, too comfortable, much more comfortable than he imagined. He'd expected to be able to tease them into confusion because they would be too outside their minds to keep up, but they all looked and acted so…normal. It was nothing like the movies he'd reviewed for his undercover stint. Hell, the guy who heard voices was probably more sane than his dad and Lassie combined.
"What are you in for, kid?" A gruff voice beside him asked. This man, unlike the others at the table, had peppered hair, clearly older than himself.
"What is this a jail show?" Shawn mocked with a kind grin. "'What are you in for?'" Shawn repeated with a theatrical edge to his voice. "I never thought I'd personally hear that. Thanks for the experience, man." He leaned back in his chair momentarily, getting lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. "I'm psychic, and no one believes me. They think I'm nuts."
"Tell me my future," the gruff man demanded. He sat back, staring at Shawn, clearly entertained.
"It doesn't work that way," Shawn started in an attempt to get out of showcasing his skills. "I only do the here and now, except Fridays when the spirits tell me what time to pick up my cupcakes without having to wait in line. Oh, or during the Super Bowl when they tell me who's going to win."
"Then that just proves that you belong here for hallucinating that you're a psychic."
Shawn growled lowly in frustration and closed his eyes. He did not need this right now. When he reopened them, he took in every detail of his doubter, leaving no stone unturned and no piece of singed skin unnoticed.
"Huh," Shawn said, putting a finger to his head. "All I'm seeing is fire. That's weird. Fire…Fire and matches." He turned to the man. "You have a fire fetish don't you," Shawn teased. The older man tensed. "It's a propulsion. You have the propulsion to be a firefly."
"Compulsion, and it's firebug not firefly," he was corrected. "Now cut it out, you're giving me the creeps."
"You give me the creeps," Herb mumbled under his breath after the doubter stormed off. "Don't mess around with that guy. He's not right, and that's saying something considering where we are. He should be moved to a different floor. We're just nice to him so he doesn't go ballistic."
Shawn hummed as he took in the information. "What's his name?"
"Robert. That guy goes on rampages just from the thought of losing a card game. I especially hate when it happens during meals," Herb moaned. "A man's gotta eat, and this man hates being interrupted in the middle of a pork sandwich."
"My food list said nothing about pork sandwiches," Shawn whined.
"You're on a special diet," Rodney sang, causing his new roommate to grumble unhappily. "Maybe it's because you're so old."
"Old?" Shawn gasped, holding his heart as if physically wounded. He bounced back quickly. "Man, I have better hair than you and perfect unwrinkled skin. I am not old! You're old!"
"You're old!" Rodney snapped back.
Shawn huffed. "No, you're old!"
"You're old!"
"No, you're—"
"Mr. Spencer."
"Damn it," he cursed. He moved to follow the nurse but kept eye contact with Rodney who was smiling as if he'd won their argument. "You're older than Jurassic Park!" Shawn cried. "No, older than that! Betty White! You're older than Betty White and all of the Golden Girls!" Before he could disappear completely, he took one last jab. "And my hair will always be better than yours! Always!" He rounded the corner to meet his doctor, only to pull back once more. This time, his voice was low and serious rather than a shout. "You're not even human. You will always be a ghost to me!"
Rodney and Herbert waved with bright smiles covering their faces. "Have fun with the doctor," Herbert sang mockingly.
"Good to see you again, Mr. Spencer. I'm Dr. Thatcher. We weren't properly introduced yesterday."
A none too happy Shawn flopped down in the seat across from his doctor. "My name is Shawn. Save the Mr. Spencer thing for my dad."
"Shawn, how has your stay been so far?"
"Do I look old?"
The doctor paused, looked over at his patient and then let out a laugh. "No, of course not. You're in your thirties, the prime of your life. You're not old."
"The twenties are the prime," Shawn grumbled, crossing his arms as he pouted. "I really am getting old."
"I'm in my late fifties, Shawn. To me, you are full of youth. I would love to go back to your age."
"Oh God," Shawn whined. "One day I'm going to be fifty! I'll look just like my dad except with more hair!"
Thatcher let out a long sigh. "While I can see this is quite distressing for you, I would like to get to the real reason you're here."
"Can I call you Mr. T?"
"Why would you want to do that?" Thatcher pinched his nose and momentarily closed his eyes. "I would prefer Doctor, but if you want to call me Mr. T then I will call you Mr. Spencer."
"Forget it."
"Now," Thatcher shuffled a few papers around on his desk, and then spun around to fully face Shawn. "My records say that you are here due to a suicide attempt. Correct?"
"Incorrect."
"But Shawn, it says right here…"
"It's wrong," he pushed. Shawn shifted in his seat for a moment and then zipped over to a couch on another side of the doctor's office. He hugged a pillow close to his chest. "I was having a vision. Sometimes my visions take control of me and to places I wouldn't normally go. That's what really happened."
"Hmm," the doctor hummed as he scribbled in his notebook. "It also says here that you think you're psychic?"
"I know I'm psychic. I work as a consultant for the SBPD…" He trailed off distractedly, watching the man write in his notebook. "Dude, do you really need to do that? It's like you're writing a book about me. I'm flattered really, but wait until after I leave to fawn over me."
Thatcher blinked and then after tilting his head in thought, placed the notes behind him on his desk. "Better?"
"Thank God."
"You are an interesting one…" Shawn stared at the enthralled man with confusion. "Would you care to expand on what happened? I won't write anything until you step outside the door, promise."
Shawn's muscles tensed, but after nervously licking his lips he continued. "Uh…" His eyes glanced around to find a clock. "How long do we have?"
Thatcher checked his watch. "This is our first time meeting so…about half an hour so I can gather information and make any decisions."
"My food," Shawn shot out. "There was a mistake, I'm on a weird diet."
"I'll fix it once you leave," the older man said simply.
"How much longer do we have?" Shawn's fingers dug into the pillow under his grip.
"Mr. Spencer…"
"Mr. T…"
Thatcher sighed. "Shawn, no time has passed. Please, I just need some information so I can try to help you. We won't get anywhere if you block me out."
"The spirits and I don't need help. We do our job and we do it well. One of them just so happened to get a bit overenthusiastic."
"If you don't give me any information besides talking to spirits and having black outs and visions then I will have to put you on an anti-psychotic," the doctor warned. "I would rather not do something that we both know you don't need."
Shawn groaned loudly and threw the pillow to the side. "I can't get a break around here."
"I'm afraid we can't afford to give our patients breaks. One mistake could cause a lot of problems."
"I don't need medication," Shawn whined and kicked his legs childishly.
"Anti-psychotics it is." Thatcher stood abruptly and Shawn followed suit, his mouth dropping to the floor. "I'll put the order in and you will start on the lowest dosage tonight before bed."
"I don't hear voices!" Shawn spat out something close to word vomit. His hand grabbed out, but just barely missed the doctor's prescription pad.
"Sorry?"
"I don't hear voices," Shawn told him slowly. A shiver surged through his body at the thought of what he'd just done. "I uh…I don't hear the spirits. I just let them lead me from time to time."
"Mr. Spencer…" Thatcher shook his head. "The fact that you claim to be influenced by something in your mind would warrant medication, but lucky for you I'm not giving you a prescription today. It's far too early for those types of decisions." The doctor held up his blank prescription pad with a triumphant grin.
Shawn's face scrunched up in confusion and then went stony at his conclusion. "You were using one of those Psychology tricks, weren't you Mr.T?" Luckily, he'd only half trapped himself into revealing his secret. "How about we never play that game again? I don't like being tricked."
Thatcher sat back in his chair with a playful twinkle in his eyes. "I guarantee no promises. I'm a Psychiatric doctor, experimenting and discovering the mind is my job." He waved and shut the door to his office, granting his uncomfortable patient freedom early.
Shawn nodded his head, his eyes glazed in thought. He hadn't been expecting that from the doctor. He'd gotten him, but that may have been due to his current vulnerability. A small intrigued smirk twitched at his lips. Not bad for the first meeting.
Not my favorite chapter ever, I think it's boring and overall bad. I may have procrastinated in posting it for that reason...I'll put up a better chapter soon hopefully. But ignoring that: THANKS FOR ALL THE NICE REVIEWS! It's really encouraging and pushes me forward. I've never kept up a decent pace at releasing chapters before. If I slow down I'll kick myself so you guys don't have to do it.
Oh, and I named the dcotor with a T name for a reason. I couldn't help myself. I had to make a Mr.T joke.
Redwolffclaw you rock my world~
