Disclaimer: I don't own Psych. I never have, and alas, I never will.
A/N: Thank you Olivia94. You have saved me once again from my run-on sentence addiction lol! You're the best!
Chapter 3: Lassie: Search party leader extraordinaire
Detective Lassiter was now leading the rescue team in search of Henry, who they were presuming had launched the flare that had caught Officer Buzz McNabb's attention. Their flashlights were sweeping the bank in search of the older man—fully expecting to find him sitting along the tree line, mourning the death of his son. The younger man didn't guilt the guy for decking him; he supposed that had he been in a similar situation he would have done the same. A son is a son.
Hell, he hadn't wanted to see Spencer get killed. He didn't necessarily like the moron, but he didn't hate him either. When the rope was cut his own heart had seemed to stop, he could hear his partner's cry of despair echoing in his ears. He had felt like a failure: a civilian had died on his watch, and it wasn't just an empty face, it was Spencer. He knew he would be haunted by that goofy grin for the rest of his life.
Now, as they were moving along the bank at a steady—yet cautious—pace, he tried to keep his thoughts from lying on the younger man. Instead he focused on the task at hand: finding the kid's distraught father. A bright yellow mass several yards ahead caught the detective's attention. The color was a stark contrast to all the dark earthy shades surrounding them. "Spencer!" he called "Henry!"
There was no response, but he could distinctly see the outline of the rain slicker previously worn by the other man. Judging by the shouts behind him the other officers could see the same thing, and they picked up their pace carefully.
When they got closer he held up his hand, wanting to approach the older man alone. "Henry?" he calmly called. He could see the man huddled under a nearby tree his coat resting over his slouched form. It wasn't till he had gotten within a few feet of the patriarch that he could see two sets of feet jutting out of the mass. "Sweet lady justice!" he hissed, closing the space between them in seconds. When he pulled the coat back, the haunted eyes of Henry Spencer were looking straight back at him.
"He's not shaking anymore." He whispered hoarsely, "I think he's in shock: hypothermia or something."
Looking down he saw a familiar form nestled tightly into the father's body, as if by sheer will alone the dad could keep his son warm. The pale skin of the young man made the detective assume they were too late. He let his shaking hand press two fingers against the chilled skin of their lead psychic and he sighed in relief—the pulse was slow, but it was there. Standing up he turned and called to the men to follow, and motioned to the paramedics they had brought along to hurry.
In moments Henry was being pried from his son's form with little to no fight. Carlton believed that to be the result of exhaustion and shock on the older man's part more than him simply being compliant. Spencer men didn't just cooperate. Lassiter glanced over at Shawn, who was being placed on a backboard, a brace currently snapping into place around his neck. Soon they would all be making their trek back to where an awaiting ambulance could take the kid to get the help he needed.
Lassiter kneeled and placed a hand on the older man's shoulder, though Henry only had eyes for his son. "Mr. Spencer, we're almost ready to head out, do you think you can walk?" Henry sighed and looked up with an expression that ranged from exhaustion to 'Ah Crap.'
"I don't really have the choice now do I detective." He said more as a statement than a question.
"Not really Henry, but I need to know if you're hurt." Though Lassiter couldn't see any obvious injuries, the man's eyes held obvious signs of pain. Whether it was from physical or emotional pain remained unseen.
"I feel like I was just ripped in half—but I'm not a wuss."
Carlton snorted "You're not superman either." Lassiter had planned to say more but the team was already looking at him for permission to head back into the direction they had originally come from. With a quick nod they began to move.
Looking back at Henry, the younger man offered him a hand up. Lassiter was almost thankful when his gesture was not ignored, but accepted gratefully. Helping the elder Spencer to his feet was quite the task. Despite his words earlier it was very clear the night's events had taken a toll on the other man's body. Heck, they were all tired. He himself felt like he had been involved in a hit and run.
"I'll help you out Henry. Just hold on to me and we'll take it slow and steady." He encouraged.
"Just not too slow: I need to keep up with my son."
Lassiter nodded in agreement. "I don't think you'll have to worry; it'll take them a while to get him safely across this terrain."
Henry hesitantly placed his arms around the younger man's shoulders, and, with a shaky breath, started to move forward, trying to ignore the multiple protests coming from his body.
"You haven't told me how you found Shawn."
Even in the dim beams of light coming from the flashlights and lanterns Lassiter could see the older man's features clamming up.
"No. I haven't." The response was curt and final—Lassiter knew that he'd have to wait till later to get an explanation. He didn't blame him really; judging by the look on his face when they had just arrived, a lot had transpired since the older man had decked him, leaving him flat on his back in a mud puddle less than an hour ago.
Carlton felt the man stumble slightly, and he reached around to grasp Spencer's waist. God he needed a beer. Or maybe a scotch. Hell, he'd take a bottle of whiskey. After this was over he was going to get the first thing he could and drown himself in it. He almost turned a shade lighter at the word drown—maybe he'd just go to bed.
The rest of the journey was made in silence—nothing but heavy breathing, grunts, and hisses passed between them.