Yay! It's my birthday today... that is, I've officially had this account for a year now. Woot.
Anyway, warnings: sad, mentioned character death. Shawn/Gus friendship moment.
Oh, and spoilers for An Evening With Mr. Yang - the best episode ever!
35) Hold My Hand
It's been three days and I still can't remember anything but the feel of her hand in mine, Shawn says, eyes wide with tears and lack of hope, and Gus feels tears of his own spring up.
Shawn, I understand – and three days isn't enough, I know, but – It's all that he's going to get, because this is a serial killer, and that can't be forgotten, and he wants Shawn to listen to him, he wants Shawn to come with him, and he's just going to keep killing people unless Shawn stops him.
You don't understand, Gus, it's been three days and I swear, I don't even remember what that first clue was; forget about solving his riddles. I'm – she was holding my hand, Gus, she was trying to ask for help, but I didn't listen to her, this is my fault – she was holding my hand…
Gus closes his eyes and knows he's going to hate himself forever for this, hate himself and hate Yin Yang forever. Have you seen the latest note?
Shawn shakes; not just his head but an all-out full-body shiver. He'd always been a momma's boy and it had never been so sad before. Shawn – Shawn, it's your dad. It's Juliet.
Shawn's voice cracks, Wh-ich one?
Gus hates himself, why does he have to tell this to Shawn, god – It's both. Both, Shawn.
Shawn's head drops, and his lips quiver. His eyes are red-rimmed, angry, and the mud and blood from the outdoor movie three nights ago is still splattered all over him. He hasn't changed clothes since his mother was shot in the head. Hasn't washed his hands, either.
Gus, Gus, I can't – Gus… He's sobbing now, and Gus wraps his arms around Shawn, lets him press his sweaty, bloody, dirty head into his shoulder, lets him cry. Gus... God, she was holding my hand and I didn't see it, I didn't get anything. I can't do this, Gus, I can't remember, I – I'm not psychic, Gus…
You don't have to be, Shawn, Gus says, and smiles through his own fear and tears. Just think, Shawn. You can do this. I know you can. And look – if you do this, I promise, I'll give you a week – another Mexico trip. Just no donkeys this time, And that makes Shawn laugh-sob, fingers digging into Gus's shoulders.
Is a burro okay? He asks pitifully, and Gus knows – just knows – that it's going to be okay.
They're the same thing, Shawn, he says, and lets go, and Shawn gets up on his own.
Come on, he says, looking dead on his feet, except for the hardness suddenly in his eyes, the steely thread under the lightness of his voice. I'm going to need Magic-Head for this.