A/N: Once again - my friend Mrs-N-Uzumaki and I have made a story under my name on here called Murder, Mistrust and Pineapple. Check it out and give us some feedback! :) As for this chapter, I hope you all enjoy! Thank you loyal reviewers and other readers!
As far as Juliet is concerned, turning back time is the one superpower that could really be used for something.
She stands outside Sam Schmidt's hospital room, looking at the beige floor, wishing.
Because, after all, turning back time would solve a hell of a lot. With one fluid motion she could take them all – Shawn, Lassiter, Gus, Chief Vick, Henry –; put them back to before. Before Shawn had discovered his psychic abilities. Before everything in the criminal community in Santa Barbara was intertwined with something supernatural.
To be quite honest, she feels like she's in shock. She probably is. None of this has really quite hit her the way it has, say, Henry, who hasn't even looked at Shawn lately.
The whole 'he was lying to you the whole time' reminder isn't helping either because Juliet loves Shawn. Loves him so much sometimes that it hurts.
Like right now. It hurts. She doesn't quite know how to react to anything lately. She arrested a man who could move objects with his mind. She'd just now witnessed a murdered man come back from the dead.
Sometimes, when she's alone, she wishes everything that's happening lately is all a figment of her imagination. It's not all terrible, she supposes. Shawn seems the same as ever. Maybe a touch less joyous, but still joyous just the same. She wonders if he really doesn't know the severity of everything that's going on or that he's just chosen to ignore it.
Speaking of Shawn, he's been in Sam's room an awfully long time. She walks in, poking her head around the corner and sees Shawn, tilted in an orange plastic chair, talking a mile a minute.
"So you see, the whole thing about it is that Maverick and Goose-!" Shawn's rant cuts off when he recognizes Juliet standing there.
Sam's eyes follow her as she sits beside Shawn.
"What about Top Gun?" she asks, hoping that she is smiling.
"Only that it's the best Tom Cruise movie ever," Shawn says, eyes wide.
"No way," Juliet snorts. "Minority Report."
Shawn snorts. "You're insane."
And just like that, they're back in that old diner, above newspapers and empty juice glasses, laughing. Shawn reaches for her hand and she smiles as he gently rubs his thumb over her palm, reassuring her.
Henry knows that he's been avoiding his son. Oh, asking Karen for a week off to go fix a 'medical emergency' had been total crap and they both knew it. They both knew he was intentionally hiding but only Henry knew the reason: ever since Shawn admitted to his, uh, powers manifesting, Henry dodged any type of contact with him. Granted, he was the one always forcing the kid to just sit and eat some steak with him but right after his admittance to being something he'd pretended to be for some odd years…Henry made it a point not to encourage him over to the house. It wasn't that his son had so drastically changed, more than Henry himself had. He'd tried so long to help Shawn cover up everything – and though he'd always told his pain-in-the—ass kid that it was because it was his 'one last favor' – and, well, himself. The whole thing was covered by him purely for selfish reasons; he'd thought, stupidly, that Shawn's faux-psychic detective spiel was a good sign, that it wasn't genuine. His leniency for the secret stemmed from relief.
But now…now everything was 'complicado' and jumbled. The SBPD and his son had always fused together like oil and water but now it's different. It's a different type of inability to fuse. Or rather, the fusing between supernatural and…well…normal. The two shouldn't fuse.
Ergo, Henry didn't show up anymore. Well, he did. He did his usual work; just managed to slip in and out of the station without bumping into his son. He had seen Gus and Juliet but they had dodged him as much as he them.
However – despite all these fleeting thoughts, Henry's now standing in the local hospital's cafeteria, a chocolate chip cookie in front of him and a coffee in his hand. Shawn had sent him a text asking for him to be there and since it had been weeks since they'd talked, he obliged.
Now he's just waiting for Shawn to show.
Just as he's starting to get into a conversation between two nurses about some type of mysterious patient that –
"Hey, dad," Shawn saunters up to his father and then looks down at the gigantic chocolate chip cookie in front of him. "Dude," he smirks. "I haven't eaten yet. Can we split?"
Henry gestures for him to go ahead.
Shawn breaks all but a quarter piece off the cookie, shoves it into his mouth and then says through the crumbs, "So, I know we haven't talked in a few days." The mushy sounds of Shawn's chewing make Henry roll his eyes.
"Yeah," Henry rubs a hand over his face. "I know that-!"
"I need your help." Shawn blurts. The look in his eyes is one Henry's seen only in bouts of serious cases. Which could mean one of two things.
"Is it…" Henry lowers his voice, making sure the nurses at the next table over don't hear. "Supernatural?"
Shawn hesitates. "What would you qualify a man coming back from the dead as?"
Henry lets his forehead smack down on the sticky tabletop. "Are you sure?" he asks, muffled.
Shawn shrugs. "I don't know what the hell's going on, dad. I mean, I have this…vision about this guy like…dying. We find out who he is and then we get there, me all the while thinking we're gonna save him."
Henry raises his head, listening closely now.
"Except that, we do get there…and find him dead." Shawn rubs the stubble on his cheeks. "But…then he like…jumps back up or something. And he's back."
"Back?" Henry echoes numbly. The words coming out of Shawn's mouth would sound absolutely ridiculous to a…normal…person but then again, he's talking to a psychic.
Shawn nods. "It was like he was stone-cold dead, just laying there in his own blood. And then he just…opens his eyes."
"You don't know who the…almost"-Henry corrects himself-"murderer is?"
Shawn shakes his head. "No idea."
"What do you want me to do?" Henry asks, unable to stop the whine creeping into his voice. But really, what place does he have in all this?
Shawn sighs. "I need you to help me, dad. I need to find out who this…almost…murderer is. All I got from the vision is that it's a she. Young girl, too."
Henry resists the urge to snort. "Shawn, there are a lot of young girls out there."
"I know." He shakes his head regretfully. "But I really want to help this guy. He's so scared."
It's silent for a while and then Henry finally asks, "So is that his…thing? Coming back from the dead?"
It's definitely different to be discussing peoples' superpowers in broad daylight, over a cookie, no less.
Shawn looks thoughtful. "Maybe not."
Henry looks at him incredulously. "What else would it be?"
Shawn looks up at the ceiling. "I feel like…that guy would know if that was his thing, you know?"
Suddenly, he cracks a smile. "Hey. You think I can pull off a wig?"
Henry looks dubious.
"You know," Shawn says, in that reverent voice that lets Henry know he's still there, "I'm Whoopi Goldberg. Obviously you're Demi Moore. Think Gus could pull off playing Patrick Swayze?"
Henry shakes his head.
"Those are big shoes to fill." Shawn reminds him.
"I guess so." Henry pops the last of the cookie in his mouth.
Three floors above them, in the ICU, a man who's been in a coma for nearly an entire year, opens his eyes and speaks a full sentence, "Is there any water?"
A week after the dead-but-not-really man is finally released from the hospital, Shawn and his father still have no leads. How surprising is that? They can't just ask every young woman in the Santa Barbara area if she's recently attempted to murder a Caucasian man in his mid-forties.
Shawn, Henry and Gus – when he isn't fulfilling Central Coast assignments – try their best to decipher Shawn's vision in the Psych office, even pulling out the glass board that makes Shawn feel like Charlie on Numb3rs. If anyone would happen to stumble upon the detective agency, they would take one look at the board and insist they'd walked into A Beautiful Mind 2.
The board is dotted with random doodles – supplied by Shawn – and slanted notes Henry's written that Shawn's told him about what he's seen.
In lime green, woman…apologizes. Young.
In red, appropriately, blood.
And the last, written in trepidation (between both father and son) in sky blue, pain.
The idea that Shawn goes through the exact same thing – death – in his visions makes Henry shudder. He's known to be a little rough around the edges, but he's not heartless; it still unnerves him.
Gus draws a pretty charitable version of Shawn, putting a hand up to his temple and beneath it he's scrawled, 3.5 months, because that's how long it's been since Shawn admitted to realizing something different about himself.
In navy-blue, SBPD and light green, Psych. They are side by side and in purple, right smack in the middle of the two forces, is the word supernatural.
At the bottom, in chronological order, written in orange, is psychic, telekinesis…man who comes back to life?
Shawn and Henry write most of this, during terrific brainstorms when either one is too excited (or in Henry's case, too frustrated) to formulate their words into a complete sentence. It's kind of confusing to look at, sometimes, Shawn reasons, reaching into a Tupperware container Jules's dropped off.
He pulls out a slice of pineapple and chews thoughtfully. This is probably the hardest he's ever tried on solving something. At least, the hardest with this new…attachment. It's too confusing and blurry to try and piece together something that doesn't make sense – even for him.
He's even tried a few times to get something – but the biggest divining he's done in the week is tell Juliet he wants blueberry ones before she can tell him she's going to make pancakes.
He's even gone so far as to just sit still. He's actually just sat there and thought. For some idiotic reason, Shawn had assumed he was going all over the place and the visions needed to come when he was still and waiting. But after an hour of getting cramped in Gus's desk chair, he gave up.
Even now, standing here, he's almost…frozen. The pineapple isn't even really helping; it just tastes wrong today. He puts the container down in disgust and looks at the TV, which he's kept on the news for a few hours.
Thankfully, Jules and Lassie have kept Sam Schmidt's case under wraps and it hasn't hit the news circuit but he's keeping an eye on it just the same. He – admittedly – wants some sort of clue to jump out at him but nothing is.
Or maybe he's just not letting it.
Gus's frustrated words from the other night (after Shawn refused to call him anything else but "Agent Eppes") bounce back at him and he groans.
Just concentrate, Shawn!
Yeah, if only concentrating was his problem.
He sits back down at his desk chair and reaches for his rubber band ball and tosses it. Think, he urges himself, what did the woman look like? At the time it was pretty damn clear but after the whole not-death thing and generally just trying not to think of it, it was like…locked or something. Gus had suggested something about yoga or some ancient Tibo…Tibe…something like that…exercise. But Shawn doesn't think anything New Age-y will work –
Shawn stops mid-thought, tries to get up from his chair, stumbles and then falls onto the floor.
The thing about psychic visions? They freakin' hurt. They make you dizzy and disoriented and kind of hot.
Shawn stands up and his eyes go wide. Of course. Of course he's doing this again – except, he's Sam Schmidt again but he's in the hospital, a young women looming outside the room, peeking in the window, who Shawn just knows is the attempted murderer. She's got springy, bouncy brunette curls and green eyes and she looks worried, pacing.
Then there's a sensation of falling and not being able to grasp anything solid and Shawn opens his eyes.
Immediately, he reaches for his phone, ready to gather up the cavalry and get everything going because she could be at the hospital right now – except that Gus doesn't pick up and neither does his dad – he must be out fishing or something, Shawn guesses. He tries Jules but she apologetically says Chief Vick's got her wrapped up tight in a robbery case. He doesn't even try for Lassiter, instead searches the office for his keys. Except that, he's basically put the place in a windstorm and he can't find them and damn it.
He's contemplating walking – yes, walking all the way to the hospital – when his phone rings.
"Yeah?" Shawn asks, irritated, not having looked at the caller ID.
"Yeah, Shawn, hi." It's Ryan and he's saying everything in a rush – for Ryan at least. His usual calm but with a tiny ounce of panic. "Listen – remember how you said you thought maybe that guy wasn't immortal?"
Shawn had filled Ryan in on the case of course – Ryan had practically been molded into the SBPD's employment, along with Sarah, when she could afford some advice from her nursing shifts – and he'd be lying if he didn't say he was hoping for Ryan to get something he couldn't.
"Yeah?" Shawn asks, pacing around his desk.
"Well, I don't know if you know this but it's running on the news right now. Some guy's just woken up from some year-long coma. The doctors were planning to take him off life support." There's a beat of silence in which Shawn strides over to the television and turns the volume up, cursing and thanking his psychic abilities for missing a key hint. "Tell me that's not a coincidence." Ryan says.
Shawn watches a very perky news reporter go on about some miracle at the local hospital and slowly sits down on the chair in front of the TV.
"Dude," Shawn finally says, "you need to drive me to the hospital."
Thankfully, Ryan is not that far away from Shawn and can pick him up and drive him right to the hospital. Neither of them really talk, not until they're in the hospital and past check-in.
"You know, I'm going out on a limb for you," Ryan tells Shawn as they walk the halls of the hospital. Firstly, he does have a job, contrary to Shawn's belief and he needs to design websites for people that pay him to do so, secondly, he had had to drive Shawn all the way to the hospital from where he was and while he finds the whole rush-and-adrenaline-solve-things-catch-criminals exciting, he also likes to relax more than anything.
"Oh, Ryan," Shawn simpers, "you're starting to sound like Gus."
"Shawn – you know I hate hospitals." Which is sort of true. He doesn't like places that have people that can do scary things, like jump in and out of death.
They round the corner but Shawn stops right in front of Sam Schmidt's room. "Dude. This is a huge break. We can catch the murder, today! Might even leave us enough time to go get some Panda Express with Gus."
Ryan levels the psychic with a stare. "Don't act like this isn't bothering you, man. I can tell; you keep doing that eyebrow twitch."
"I do not have a twitch!" Shawn protests. As his eyebrow twitches.
Ryan crosses his arms. "You do. You've been doing it for weeks." And he hadn't said a thing, either, which had been terribly tempting. He honestly doesn't know why no one else noticed it.
Shawn holds his defiant smirk for a few more seconds and then lets it fall. "Okay, so I'm a little off my game. I'll bounce back."
"It's not your game, Shawn," Ryan says in exasperation. "Your 'game' is fine. What you're doing is avoiding it. You're just…hiding." He knows this may be a little too Dr. Phil or whatever, but it's true and Shawn's doing that slow spiral thing he does when no one else will tell it to him for real.
Shawn huffs out a sigh. "Well, don't you think you'd be a little off if suddenly you were psychic and weird crap was going on?"
Ryan shakes his head. "You're deflecting."
Shawn looks at the floor. "Everyone…everyone expects me to be the same old guy. They don't…well, most of them, don't know that there's been this…transition. To them, I've gotta be Shawn, Psychic Detective extraordinaire, ready and willing to drink a pineapple smoothie at any time!" he says the last line with mock enthusiasm.
Ryan's green eyes seem to take on a lighter shade, as if he's suddenly realized something. Which he has. Shawn's expectations for himself are even high.
"Shawn," Ryan smiles. "Dude, that is so untrue. Do you know how much everyone appreciates you? They don't expect a song and a dance. Hell, you don't even pretend to be…well, you didn't pretend to be psychic half the time anyway."
Shawn scoffs but Ryan continues.
"Gus, Juliet, your dad, me…we all have no friggin' clue on how your mind operates. We never did, to be quite honest."
Shawn smirks.
"We can't pretend to, either." Ryan confesses. "But what we can do is listen. But you need to talk. You can't just hide forever."
Shawn looks at him for a moment and they both just stare. Something silent passes between them, something like an apology and acceptance that both know the other understands. That's enough, which leaves room for Shawn to do what he does best.
"And you picked web design as your profession?" Shawn asks, partly kidding, partly serious. On the exterior, Ryan is just this calm, collected guy that likes to help his friends out but if you know him, know him like Shawn does, you can see how multi-faceted he is.
"And how do you feel about that?" Ryan parrots.
Shawn jokingly shoves his shoulder. "Does this mean we can't have Panda Express?"
"Shawn, we have a case to solve."
"So that is a no." Shawn ducks into Sam's room.
"Shawn!" Ryan chases after him.