Brittle Balance

Chapter 10: It's Not That Easy Being Me

The station was fairly quiet at this time of night. Most of the officers had gone home for the day, leaving a spare few at their desks doing the evening shift. If it weren't for the situation at hand, Chief Vick would probably be home with her husband and daughter. Alas, she was in her office, coordinating phone calls between the forensics department and the hospital.

Shawn could see her from his seat in the bullpen, a chair next to Lassiter's desk. With his chin resting on his folded hands, he watched her hang up the phone for the fifth time, only to pick it up again. He could see the tiredness in her eyes as she worked. It was understandable; these past couple of days took a toll on everyone. A sense of gratefulness filled the boy up towards how determined she was to help him.

Those phone calls were to Dr. Roth and her assistant in their lab, who were given the supposed cure to analyze. The chief wanted to triple check that it was legitimate and wouldn't kill Shawn faster than he was already dying. After all, the serum that Dantero gave him was only a temporary relief.

It was a nice sentiment, he thought, to know the chief wasn't willing to risk his life, despite knowing that he technically wasn't Shawn. Well, he was, but … he wasn't, really… Ugh, thinking about this makes my brain spin, he groaned inwardly. Sighing, the boy dropped his face into his hands, rubbing his temples as his head began to ache, just like before.

"You're not gonna vomit again, are you?" Lassiter mumbled, not looking up from his paperwork.

Shawn turned his face towards the detective, poking an eye out from behind his fingers. "Dunno," he answered truthfully. "Though I may vomit if you don't change that tie soon. The colors alone might even make me seize again." It was a lame attempt at humor, and Lassiter merely scoffed in reply.

After a moment, Shawn straightened up. "Hey, here's a question for you, Lassie," he started.

"Oh, boy," Lassiter moaned. "I can't get one moment of peace with you, can I?"

"How come," Shawn pressed, ignoring the older man's attitude, "you didn't jump on the welcome-home bandwagon, hm? As soon as they saw him – saw the real Shawn, I mean – Gus, Jules, and Henry have been stuck to his side like sticky, yucky molasses, and they were all livid when they couldn't ride in the ambulance with him." Shawn swallowed, making a face as he tasted something sour. "Why aren't you with them at the hospital, Lassiter? Is he really not that important to you?"

The head detective looked up abruptly, assessing Shawn's seriousness from his tone of voice and the weary void in his eyes. He seemed to debate within his mind how to respond, and after a minute, he finally spoke.

"As far as I'm concerned, Spencer never left. You're just as annoying and childish as he was before this whole mess ever happened."

Shawn hesitated, but couldn't help the small grin on his face. He nodded at Lassie before turning away, realizing the underlying meaning of his words. It was Lassiter's way of making the situation a bit more normal for him, and in turn more normal for Shawn as well. Normalcy was something Shawn craved now, way more than he could ever crave pineapple … maybe.

But it didn't look like his life would ever be normal again.

It was ten minutes of silence after that, to which Lassiter seemed very grateful for. Shawn was busy folding a piece of paper into an origami star when the station's front doors opened and four familiar people walked in. Shawn froze in place, his eyes locked on each form with the analytical gaze he was raised to perfect.

Henry led the group, his shoulders and face relaxed with a sense of relief that Shawn hasn't seen in his movements since meeting him for, well, the first time in that interrogation room. Gus was behind him, a smile on his face as he looked over his shoulder to the couple on his tail. Juliet was grinning, too, though she contained her relief and happiness a little better than the others. Still, her eyes were alight with a joy that Shawn was all too familiar with, and one that he feared he would never see directed at him again. At this point in time, it was directed at a man who's height, form, face, and hair Shawn was used to seeing in the mirror every day … or, falsely remembered seeing, anyway.

They were normal. They were happy.

They were the people he cared the most about in the world, slipping away from him.

Without them … Shawn thought, dropping the paper star into the trash bin near his feet. Who am I?

Henry went into Chief Vick's office, separating from the rest of the gang that was now walking towards Lassiter's desk. Gus cast Shawn an awkward glance and smile, one that he falsely returned with a sharp pang piercing his chest.

"Have you interrogated Dantero yet?" Juliet asked, being the first to speak.

Lassiter shook his head and closed the folder he had been filling with papers and files the last few minutes. "I was waiting for you to get back," he said, casting an unreadable look at Shawn, then at the older version of him. "You good, Spencer?" he asked.

Shawn bit his tongue at the instinct to reply.

"Clean bill of health," the man replied, not even looking at Shawn, who lowered his head and for once in his life tried not to be noticed. "Docs say I should take it easy for a few days, since I've been out for a while, and they're testing my blood for anything I might've been injected with. I feel good, though. Right as snow."

"It's right as rain, Shawn," Gus corrected.

"Really? Why would rain be more right than snow? They're both water, after all."

"Yeah, great," Lassie grunted, clearly annoyed by the banter. He stood up and carried the folder with him. "We'll need to take your statement today, find out what you can remember, if anything."

"Not much," he admitted, which made Shawn curious. "The last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital was playing Temple Run on my phone before falling asleep. Apparently that was two days ago."

Shawn closed his eyes, conjuring the exact same memory in his mind of Sunday night. Just before he played the game, he was on the phone with Juliet talking about their favorite snacks in preparation for a movie date scheduled for the following week. Before that, he set his alarm clock to ten in the morning, and before that he was listening to Don't You Forget About Me while brushing his teeth. He dribbled some toothpaste spit on his shirt while trying to sing and wiped it off with his hand. Shawn could picture it as clearly as he could see out of his own eyes, yet now that he knew it wasn't his memory, he felt lost rather than comforted by the perfect recollection in his mind. These weren't his memories. It wasn't possible.

After all, he was only two days old.

Shawn opened his eyes and zoned back in on the present conversation, trying to make his face as emotionless as possible.

"… can write your statement down at McNab's desk. He has the forms. You know the drill. O'Hara, come on." Lassiter left without another word, heading towards the interrogation rooms. Shawn watched as Juliet looked his way and smiled probably the saddest smile she could ever give. It caused his heart to ache with the need to hold her, to wrap his arms around her and never let her go. Clenching his fists to quell the urge, he gulped and didn't even try to smile back, just nodded slightly in her direction.

Her grin fell and her eyebrows scrunched together with confliction as she finally turned away, chasing after Lassiter in a brisk walk.

"That was a bit rude, don't you think?"

Shawn looked up at his older self who was acknowledging him for the first time. Though, because Shawn knew how his mind worked, chances are he's been observing the teenager since the moment he walked up to Lassiter's desk, possibly as soon as he entered the building.

The boy ignored the question and instead asked out loud, "Is that really what my voice sounds like?"

Older Shawn smirked, and he could tell right away that despite the strange, awkward tension in the air, this wasn't as shocking to the original Spencer as it should be. He must have been told about me at the hospital.

"Yes, and you know as well as I that it's a melodic, if not heavenly sound."

"I wouldn't go that far, Shawn," Gus said, standing off to the side and observing this peculiar meeting with wide eyes and a fascinated grin.

"So, you know who I am?" Younger Shawn asked, though he already knew the answer. "I mean you know … they told you, right? About…"

"I was briefed at the hospital. I'll admit, I didn't believe any of it at first, and I thought Gus had finally fried his brains watching too many episodes of American Duos while my dad was struck with a senile moment. But then Jules backed them up, and so did a doctor there at the hospital, so … I still didn't fully believe it until I saw you five minutes ago."

"Well, don't get too used to it," the boy muttered, slouching in his seat. "If that serum isn't cleared of voodoo hex magic, then I won't be around for anyone to believe." He raised his hand to rub his temple again, his heart pounding with a sudden bout of fear. The pain was getting worse, and faster than before.

Older Shawn frowned. "What do you mean?"

Younger Shawn shot a glance at Gus, who looked away guiltily. "You didn't tell him?"

"Tell me what?"

Gus spoke in a fast, nervous voice. "I wanted to say something, but Henry wouldn't let me. I have no idea why."

Shawn, the older one – Man, this is getting confusing. If I live through this, I might need to change my name. Maybe John Bender… – raised his eyebrows insistently at his younger counterpart.

The teen gave him a weak smile that didn't touch his eyes. "I'm dying," he said, much to the other Shawn's obvious surprise. "Dr. Frankenstein mixed up his batch of Instant Shawn wrong. I guess he didn't read the directions properly, because I'm missing a few ingredients. I was also pulled out of the oven a bit too early, as you can see." He spoke with a false air of lightness, trying to make it sound like what it should be: no big deal.

Older Shawn stood in silence for a moment before whipping his head over towards the chief's office, where Henry still resided. "Why wouldn't he want me to know this?" he seethed. "I should've been told! He should've told me back at the hospital!" He had a scowl of disbelief on his face and anger in his eyes, a look he didn't sport unless he had a bone to pick with his father. Younger Shawn knew the feeling all too well, but he never experienced it outside of his body before.

He also never thought he would agree with Henry in an argument between father and son.

"Why would you care?" he asked, breaking into Older Shawn's thoughts and grabbing his attention back. The man looked confused at the accusation. "I mean, why does anyone care whether I live or die, now that they have you back? I shouldn't exist in the first place, and everyone knows this. It shouldn't matter if I die… It shouldn't matter to anyone."

"But it does matter, Shawn," Gus pacified. The teen flinched away from his own name and stood up, crossing his arms; he was looking more and more like a little kid than the adult his mind was programmed to be. "It matters to all of us because you're our friend, too. You're my best friend, just like he is," Gus pointed at Older Shawn, who wouldn't lift his eyes off his clone.

"Just because you're a lot younger than you remember doesn't mean that we're content with you dying," Gus persisted. Younger Shawn looked at his feet. "Not me, not Henry, and certainly not Juliet. Not even Lassiter."

Younger Shawn scoffed at the addition. "Gus, don't be a hot potato. Lassie thinks two Shawns coexisting is a sign of the apocalypse." He closed his eyes and willed them to understand the position he was in, the emotions he was feeling that nobody in the world ever felt before. There weren't enough words in his vocabulary to describe them. "If … if I die, the universe won't give a shit, but apparently only Dad and I have realized this."

"The only thing I've realized," Henry's voice cut in, causing Younger Shawn to look up, "is that my son is in pain, and he needs support from his friends and family whether he likes it or not." Henry looked at the boy with sadness, but there was something else hidden inside his gaze. He couldn't recognize it. Taking a few steps forward, the eldest Spencer in the room continued to speak, his voice gentler than usual. "I wasn't keeping the truth from Shawn because I didn't care about you. I just wanted to tell him myself in private, because it's a difficult subject to discuss with him, and in turn you. I didn't get the chance."

Henry heaved a sigh and stopped a few feet in front of Younger Shawn, who was hugging himself with his arms more than he was crossing them defiantly. "I'll admit that when I first saw you through the glass into the interrogation room, I didn't believe you were my son at all. It wasn't physically possible in my mind."

"And you were right in the first place," Younger Shawn said, a tone of defeat to his voice. "I'm not your son. I'm just..."

"Shawn, dammit, will you stop being so stubborn and listen to me for once?" Henry demanded, his voice no longer soft. His face set in the familiar Spencer scowl and he grabbed Younger Shawn by the shoulder, bending down slightly so they were at eye level – something he hasn't had to do in years. "Even before I discovered you were a copy, my opinion had changed. You know how? By just being yourself. By acting like your stupid, irresponsible, outgoing, and overly familiar self, you were able to change my mind – probably for the first time in history, too. Barely a minute ago, you called Lassiter by his idiotic nickname, you told Gus not to be a tomato –"

"Potato," Older Shawn corrected. "A hot potato. That was a good one, by the way."

Younger Shawn's lip twitched in an involuntary smirk.

"Whatever," Henry pressed. "Most importantly, you called me Dad. You could've called me by my first name, but you didn't. Because in every sense of the word, you were and still are Shawn Henry Spencer. Trust me; nobody could be as annoying as my son unless he was my son."

Both Shawns plus one Burton Guster snorted at the comment, and Younger Shawn scratched at the top of his head to hide his face with his arm. He took a few deep breaths to reel back his emotions, because having a total breakdown in the middle of the police station was not ideal and disgustingly unwanted. Henry must've felt the shaking in his body through the hand on his shoulder, because he stepped forward and gave the teen a half-hug for comfort.

Suddenly, Younger Shawn realized what he had seen in his dad's eyes, the mysterious hidden emotion – it was care. Henry cared, and the boy knew it to be the truth. After all, the eyes are windows to the soul. He understood a little better now what the others thought of him, and he felt rather stupid to think otherwise. Younger Shawn leaned into the brief embrace for a second before pulling back, an easier grin on his face.

"Alright," he conceded, gulping down the knot in his throat. "Ok. Fine. But still … what if that cure doesn't work?"

"Then I'll just have to force that young doctor know-it-all to make a working one herself."

Younger Shawn barked a laugh, an odd sense of relief filling his chest and releasing the weight on his heart.

That weight was quickly replaced by the sharp pain in the back of his head.