It's dark outside by the time Shawn returns home. Not his apartment, which has been overrun by Santa Barbara's finest along with the Psych office and his dad's place. (He tries not to think about some rookie pilfering through his room.) This place is nicer and more neat, Gus' apartment.
His best friend is sitting on the couch watching late-night news flicker across the screen. Gus doesn't bother turning as Shawn shuffles into the apartment. Doesn't say a word when Shawn walks past with blood still on him.
Gus might have taken a second, discreet glance at Shawn when the News headline switches to the latest murder. Shawn doesn't really know or care, the shower is calling his name and he doesn't want to talk about what has happened tonight just yet.
He listens to Gus move from the couch to the kitchen and smiles a little when the smell of jerk chicken being heated permeates the air. The thought of food makes his stomach growl and Shawn hurries through the shower. Once he is clean and standing on the tiles wrapped in a towel, Shawn goes through the process of handling the blood-stained clothes.
The bathtub is rinsed with hydrogen peroxide and scrubbed vigorously until his hand begins to cramp. Then he fills the tub halfway with hot water before submerging his Apple Jack's shirt and denim jeans. Shawn doesn't know where the bleach is and in place of it pours the rest of the hydrogen peroxide into the tub.
While they are soaking, Shawn hangs his leather jacket on the shower curtain rod and meticulously cleans his jacket with isopropyl alcohol and baking soda. Cleaning the zipper is tedious and makes Shawn think he should wear something else if he's going to keep doing this. Something tells him wearing a rubber duck rain poncho isn't all that intimidating and he's not crazy like Yin.
Not yet anyway.
After everything has been cleaned, rinsed, and hung to dry, Shawn collects all the cleaning supplies that have blood on them and even the ones that don't. Tying them up in a bag he sets it by the bathroom door. He'll toss it into the dumpster in the morning before the truck comes.
Gus is on the couch once more when Shawn wanders out in his pineapple patterned pajamas. There is a bowl of jerk chicken on the coffee table along with pineapple chunks and dipping sauce. Gus has a tub of popcorn clutched in his grasp and slaps Shawn's hand when he tries to grab a handful.
Pretending to pout, Shawn flops onto the couch at the other end. Though the couch is small enough that his hand still brushes Gus' shoulder as he props it along the back. Gus stares resolutely at the TV and Shawn drops the pout, frowning when he sees the News is still on about his latest endeavor. There's also a scrolling line below briefly detailing about a surge in deaths related to potassium cyanide laced acetaminophen, but Shawn doesn't dwell on it.
The News anchor is a middle aged woman with stiff hair and caked on makeup. She gives the very censored details of the alleged murders and spins the whole story like they weren't known criminals. So what if a couple of lowlife thugs ended up dead? Shawn thought bitterly, worse things have happened to better people. The TV abruptly changes to the cartoon channel where Samurai Jack is playing.
Shawn looks over at Gus, neither says anything and Shawn snags the jerk chicken from the coffee table.
"Were they the ones who…" Gus' question trails off and for the first time that night, he looks at Shawn.
Shawn feels a bit like a lab experiment being examined with how intently Gus is watching him. Biting his lip, Shawn contemplates for a moment. He knows what Gus is asking, not if those men were a part of it, but if those men were the ones who did that to Juliet. The ones who defiled her and stripped her of every kind of innocence. It makes Shawn sick and furious and he wishes he had drilled into the rapists' heads slower with an even duller drill bit.
"Yeah." Shawn nods shortly, ignoring the way his voice cracks. Gus nods in return, his shoulders relaxing.
"Good." He says before turning back to the TV.
The response surprises Shawn, though it shouldn't. Juliet was his friend too and Gus can be one hell of a vindictive son of a gun when he wants to be. Not to mention he's been harboring a fugitive for months now. Shawn smiles faintly and bites off a piece of jerk chicken, chewing carefully as the bruises on his jaw and broken nose make themselves known. He should take something for it, heaven knows Gus has a whole pharmaceutical in his bathroom cabinet.
"What happened to your nose?" Gus asks suddenly.
Shawn lightly rubs the bridge of his nose with a finger, glad he had reset it prior to reaching the apartment. Gus never would have let him live it down if he had seen him cry afterward. Realizing Gus is waiting for an answer, Shawn shrugs and takes another bite of his food.
"Nothing."
Gus 'hmph's and raises an eyebrow, "Nothing? I know it's not because you let a couple of two-bit gangsters get one over on you."
His friend's surety brings a genuine smile to Shawn's face even though it hurts his nose. Wetting his lips and letting the smile fade, Shawn bobs his head in acquiesce.
"Five, actually. But, um," Shawn hesitates, "I ran into Eliot."
Both of Gus' eyebrows crawl up his forehead and his eyes widen. It's kind of funny and Shawn tries not to laugh, knowing it will sound hysterical.
"Eliot?" Gus repeats, "As in Eliot your-really-scary-cousin Eliot?"
Shawn rolls his eyes, though that hurts too and he thinks he should really take something. Maybe Tylenol.
"Yeah, that Eliot. I only know one. And he's not that scary." Shawn replies. He thinks about how he left Eliot and decides with some misplaced confidence and too much smugness, his cousin really isn't that scary.
Gus decides not to argue that yes, Eliot is terrifying, because Shawn probably doesn't think his cousin is (not with Shawn's body count rising so quickly).
"What happened?" Gus askes and briefly wonders how far Shawn will go to evade arrest
Shawn opens his mouth unsure of how to respond but understands he needs to reassure Gus. He can see that lingering, haunting question of 'who's next' and Shawn doesn't like that it's there in his best friend's eyes.
"It was nothing that was his fault," Shawn says. The words drive away the smugness with guilt as he realizes it wasn't Eliot's fault. His cousin was doing the right thing even when he didn't want to.
"He's fine." Shawn tells himself it's not a complete lie. It's all he says and turns his attention back to food and TV.
Gus accepts it at face value and doesn't voice the other dozen questions barraging his mind. He trusts his friend, for better or for worse, and until death tears them apart. Even when Shawn absently twirls a hunting knife- that Gus didn't know he owned- while they watch late night cartoons, Gus still trusts him. Maybe it's misplaced but Gus isn't so sure he cares. As he glances over at a pill bottle on the counter, he makes the vow to stick by his friend no matter what.
(No matter how many bodies it takes.)
Obligatory disclaimer.
Where, oh where are my fellow psychos? Pls, r and r.