Alone
Disclaimer: If you recognize it then I don't own it.
A/N: For Whumptober 2022 #13 Can't make an omelet without breaking a few legs-dislocation
The case was over, and the victims finally got justice as the murderer was dragged off to jail. Detective Carlton Lassiter watched the black and white drive away, lights and sirens going, and let out a tired sigh. He hated when kids were killed. Kids shouldn't die. He had saved one, but somehow it was a hollow victory when parents were planning funerals for the little bodies in the morgue.
"Lassie!" A voice yelled in his ear. He whirled around, gun drawn in one hand, to find a grinning wannabe psychic behind him.
"That's a good way to get yourself shot," The detective hesitated but finally decided it would be too much paperwork to shoot the obnoxious idiot. He holstered his gun. He didn't want to talk to anyone, especially the overgrown man-child Shawn Spencer. He just wanted to go home and be alone.
"I followed you," Shawn babbled on like he had drank way too much coffee, "What are you doing over here by your lonesome?"
"What, are you stalking me now?" He took a deep breath in through his nose counting his firearms in his mind, trying to find his inner calm. He did not want to be dragged into whatever ridiculous scheme he was cooking up. Spencer never did anything by half. He seemed to have made tormenting Carlton his new life mission next to lying about being psychic and solving crimes.
"Hey, I found you, didn't I?" The silly smile couldn't quite hide the shrewd eyes that studied the detective. Spencer played the fool but he really could pick up on things that no one else ever noticed. He would have made a good cop, he had good instincts and observational skills, if he wasn't so goofy and immature.
"Go away, Spencer," His voice lacked his normal venom and sounded tired and defeated even to his own ears. He was just waiting on the fake psychic to jump on his weakness like a lion on a wounded gazelle. He didn't like to deal with his brand of interaction on a good day but today had not been a good day. He didn't want to verbally spar with him as he lead him through word hoops and tied him up in insults and belittling comments. He could usually give as good as he got but he felt like he was slowly bleeding out. He felt ten years older and tired to his bones. He could deal with Spencer tomorrow but not tonight. He couldn't deal with anything tonight.
As was typical behavior the younger man completely ignored him and started talking nonstop, "You're a hero tonight, Lassie, you found little Timmy in the well. You should be out celebrating that you saved him."
Lasiter did not want to think about the just-solved case or his role in it, "Do me a favor, Spencer, shut up and leave me alone."
"You look a little foolish with your arm like that," Shawn patted his bad shoulder. The ache he had been ignoring flared up into agony as the arm he had been holding tight against his side burned from shoulder to fingertips.
"Son of a bitch," Carlton bit down hard on the yelp of pain that wanted to escape his lips, "What the hell, man!" He glared at the offending hand that dared touch him. He had been fine before Spencer had butted in. He clenched his teeth hard enough to hear enamel creaking from the strain.
"Lassie, you okay? Your arms all messed up." Spencer almost sounded concerned.
"No, I'm not okay," He growled, holding his injured arm tight against his side once more as he rode out the waves of pain.
"Do you want me to get someone?" Spencer struck a dramatic running pose, "I'm really fast. We could have you drugged up and tucked in bed with a lollipop and superhero bandaid before they are even finished booking Santa Barbara's newest inmate." Shawn stepped closer, reaching out to take the detective's arm and lead him away.
"Enough," Lasiter growled, "Don't touch me or I'll kill you."
"I'm not touching you," Shawn held his finger inches from the detective's face.
"Uncle," Shawn gave in at the added pressure on his finger being viciously applied from the cop's good arm, "I'll leave you alone."
"Great," Carlton did not look as if he thought it was great as he watched Shawn turn away from him in slow motion.
"I'm sensing that you don't really want to be alone right now," Shawn commented as he took a few tiny steps away from the detective.
"And I'm sensing that you will find out if you can sense a bullet before it hits you if you don't shut up." He racked a bullet into the chamber with an audible click. Pain exploded in his arm again as he momentarily forgot about the injury and used his dislocated arm to cock his gun. The world blurred around him as the pain grew worse the longer his arm was out of its socket. He felt hands on him as his stomach finally had enough and emptied itself of what little was in it onto the ground. What little he'd been able to eat during the investigation had come back up, like a rookie, after each new discovery of a victim. He had done it in secret so at least he still could show his face at work tomorrow. He had felt weak and helpless for days. He didn't need an audience for his inevitable breakdown now that it was finished.
"Damnit," He weakly slapped away his hands, "What did you not understand about 'touch me and you die'."
"I never understand you," Shawn laughed, but his eyes held an understanding Carlton had never seen before.
"What are you really doing here?" He tried to fight the hands holding him up but almost fell to the ground on shaky unstable legs. Giving into his fate he slumped into Shawn's supporting grip. He was exhausted. Food was not the only thing he had neglected recently.
"Saving you."
"Well you did an amazing job," Lassie said sarcastically, looking pointedly at his injured arm.
Shawn laughed, "Hey, you did that all on your own, playing hero, saving a kid from falling to his death. Doing stupid things without thinking is usually my thing. I should sue you for copyright infringement."
"Shut up, Spencer," Lassie ordered tiredly but stopped fighting the hands helping him.
"You're welcome," Shawn gave the grumpy detective a genuine smile.