Gus was falling; a clock's ticking booming through his chest as it counted down the seconds until he didn't have any seconds left. His heart was in his throat, the air rushing by flickered with flames, the ground rushing towards him was awash with blood. He closed his eyes, too terrified to even scream.

He felt the burn of alcohol down his throat, he heard the rumble of a train, he tasted a fresh cigar, he smelled cocoa butter, he saw balls bouncing against a wall.

He was typing on the computer, the harsh light from the screen lighting up the cement walls around him. He just needed one more clue to make it all come together. He stood up to pace, but his leg burst in pain and he collapsed to the ground, then past it, rolling and bouncing down a rough hill. He finally came to a stop and his leg ached as he stared up into the night sky in confusion, did he crash his motorcycle again? A dark shape moved and he was suddenly pinned down as another man loomed over him. He tried to open his mouth to yell for help, but a finger ran along his lips, thread sprouting wherever it touched. He tried to whimper through the stitches, but the sound died in his throat as the man above him growled, "Quiet, unless spoken to."

Someone was claustrophobic, someone had bagels this morning, someone lost a friend, someone played baseball, someone had a pet snake.

He stopped suddenly, the ropes around his shoulders and arms catching him before he could hit the pavement. His heart stuttered and he refused to open his eyes. He didn't want to see the drop, he didn't want to see his feet dangling over the abyss, he didn't want to see the small lights moving uncaring below. Warm breath hit the back of his neck and he wondered if the fall would actually be preferable as he heard a low, cultured voice murmur in his ear, "Well well, aren't you a pretty little thing. I can see why our mutual friend doesn't want to choose…"

He tasted static, he felt an echo, he saw a tang in the air, he heard colors, he smelled something stuttering.

He wrote with a black quill that trailed rusty smelling red ink onto a piece of parchment as he made a list of his recent accomplishments. His arm burned as he began to cross them off, one by one. He couldn't have done one without his friend, he couldn't have done another without being rescued, he couldn't have done yet another without his psychic sense. He couldn't have done them without the people who died so he could live. He couldn't have done them without the abilities a mad man had unlocked. A low voice giggled in the background before snarling out, "Mine!"

Someone had a foot cramp, someone had a son, someone liked when the mouse didn't get caught, someone was craving sushi, someone was grateful to have been given the safer job.

He was kneeling on the ground, cold metal around his wrists and ankles, a heavy chain around his neck. His chest thrummed with the bass of the music around him and the air was saturated with an unpleasant mix of perfume, alcohol and smoke. His muscles twitched involuntarily and he shifted, trying to ease the cramping in his back. The burns on his neck pulled when he moved and the faint clack of the chain sliding against a metal pole sounded deafeningly loud underneath the music. A voice spoke out slightly below him, "Oh wow, you actually… Is that safe?"

"What can I say? Sometimes I like to show off," a Russian voice said in faint amusement. "She is very pretty after all, and if I learn a thing or two… so much the better. Take a look, consider it another perk of the job."

A hand touched his face and he flinched back. The hand followed, running under the blindfold and lifting it over his head. Fear rushed through him as he looked around, taking in the man he recognized as Novikov as well as a bald, thick man with a five-o-clock shadow. He knew how this was going to end, but if they were letting him see their faces then that end was much closer than he'd hoped.

He opened his mouth, knowing he needed to say something, but Novikov held up a small remote in warning. He snapped his mouth shut; he wasn't in any rush to feel the electricity running through his body again. The Russian reached up towards him and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear before sighing, "Sadly, it can't be all fun and games… You're welcome to enjoy the view, but we do need to talk."

He saw a bar morph into a kitchen counter, he smelled perfume sharpening to blood, he heard voices of criminals morph into chattering of scientists, he felt handcuffs flatten into zip ties, he tasted copper souring to bile. He felt fire burning it all.

Gus groaned as he regained consciousness. His mind was a kaleidoscope of sensations and feelings and memories. His head throbbed, nausea rolled in his gut, and he couldn't figure out which thoughts belonged to him.

He recognized the feeling and took a deep breath while focusing on the physical sensation of beads resting on the base of his hand and the protection they signified. His mental shield came back into existence and he could think clearly again. He kept his eyes closed as his body shook and he tried to recover from the overload; even his worst dreams didn't usually take his shield out like that. He frowned as he realized he couldn't even remember what the dream had been about, something else that hadn't happened since he'd been turned psychic.

His head continued to pound, he tried to reach up to cradle it but was stopped short by thick plastic keeping his hands behind his back. His memories suddenly came flooding back and he opened his eyes with a panicked gasp.

He was in darkness, he could feel the vibrations of a vehicle in motion, his head hurt, his hands were bound; they were in the moving truck again and they were going back to the basement and-

And there was a cushion under him. And he could see faint light filtering through the darkness. And he'd been cuffed in the truck, not zip tied. Gus forced himself to breathe slower and stay in the present, ignoring the memories pulling at him. He focused and tried to take stock.

He could hear Shawn's thoughts close by along with three other people, a fourth was slightly further away and muffled. None of the thoughts were red. They were driving, he was sitting on a comfortable bench, and he could feel the warmth of a body right next to him. The darkness obscuring his vision smelled musty and sour and he could feel cloth hanging over his face. He grimaced when he realized he had a bag over his head. An unwashed bag.

"Looks like the other one's waking up. Get the stuff ready."

Gus felt his heart beat faster at the ominous command. He shoved the memories of needles and scalpels down as he focused on the thoughts of the person moving around the vehicle: Contentment of a successful night, a laptop login, a craving for sushi, annoyed waiting.

Gus let out a breath; that didn't sound so bad. He also realized an important detail of their capture; he wasn't gagged. He scanned the thoughts of the bad guys one more time before he risked speaking up. "Uh, hi. Would someone mind telling us what's going on?"

He was proud of the fact that his voice didn't shake.

Shawn's thoughts stuttered before bouncing back, tinged with guilt and annoyance at himself. He answered Gus in a deceptively light tone. "Well buddy, I think we've been kidnapped."

Relief rushed over Gus at the words; Shawn wasn't gagged either. This kidnapping was going well so far. He matched Shawn's tone as he sighed, "Again? Great."

"I know, right? The darts were kind of cool, but the head bags are a bit cliche."

"Apparently cliches smell terrible…" Gus grumbled as he looked towards the person he could feel next to him, "You do know that laundry isn't just for shirts, right?"

He took it as a good sign that neither of them had been smacked around yet or told to shut up. He was surprised when the person next to him answered with a deep voice. "It's part of the experience. It just wouldn't be the same if things smelled nice and fresh."

"He has a point," Shawn agreed. His voice took on a hint of nervousness as he asked, "So, uh… exactly which experience are we getting today? Is this the standard Goldeneye 'capture and bring them to the boss for a monologue' or the deluxe Goldfinger 'capture and monologue and laser of death' or-"

"Relax, this isn't Die Another Day," Deep Voice reassured them as a computer dinged. The bag was pulled from Gus' head and he blinked in surprise as he looked around. They were sitting in a limo, a nice limo at that, and Shawn was across from him, looking confused but unharmed. He caught Gus' eye and pinged a question, Gus nodded reassuringly and continued to look around.

They both had mooks looming next to them, but the bad guys were both calm. Gus' mook even smirked at him as he nodded towards the front of the limo. Gus looked over and saw the third mook turning a large laptop so they could both see the video call that was in progress. A man with dark intelligent eyes smiled at them through the screen in a way that was reminiscent of a shark circling its prey.

Gus saw Shawn open his mouth and immediately cut him off, "Shawn."

Shawn glared before rolling his eyes and starting again, using the right name this time, "Novikov, fancy meeting you here."

Novikov's expression didn't change as he spoke smoothly with a Russian accent, "Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster. A pleasure to meet you. I must say, I wasn't expecting this meeting to happen so soon, but I do appreciate people with initiative."

Shawn's eyebrows tightened as his thoughts colored with confusion. He kept his tone light as he asked, "So, do most of your 'meetings' start with a kidnapping?"

"More than you might expect, probably not as many as you think," Novikov answered with an easy shrug. "I probably should apologize for the theatrics… but I do enjoy the classics from time to time."

"Right… Who doesn't enjoy a good drugging and ominous limo ride every now and then?" Shawn asked, his thoughts cresting as he tried to read the mob boss.

Gus felt thoroughly useless as he let Shawn do all of the talking. His psychic sense could do a lot, but it couldn't hear thoughts through technology. He tried to study Novikov instead, taking in the well-tailored suit, the expensive-looking desk he was sitting at, and the nondescript wall behind him. Everything on the screen seemed deliberately placed to show the man's power without giving anything away about his location.

"From what I've heard, you can be prone to theatrics as well," Novikov pointed out as his smile grew sharper. "I'm always on the lookout for local talent, but I can honestly say I've never heard of a 'psychic detective' before."

"I am a very unique person," Shawn answered carefully. "You're not the first to be interested in me. What do you want?"

"Honestly, Mr. Spencer, I'm more interested in what you want," Novikov answered as his eyes seemed to burn holes in the laptop screen. "Why would an unarmed psychic, and his associate, decide to run towards a gunfight where, as far as I can tell, your abilities would be absolutely useless."

"My abilities are what brought me there," Shawn shrugged, "The spirits can be fickle. Sometimes they lead me to the set of a soap opera, other times they lead me to a drug bust. I wouldn't be a very good detective if I didn't follow."

"And what, exactly, did the spirits tell you while you were hiding in the back alleys and distracting my sniper?" Novikov asked, a dark undertone creeping into his voice.

Shawn's thoughts crested even louder as he studied the man on the screen. "They told me you knew the cops were going to be there. They told me it was a set-up to get as many Caminos out in the open as possible, so you could take out the ones you wanted and let the cops round up the rest. They told me this wasn't a territory fight… It was a trap."

Novikov raised his eyebrows slightly. "And even knowing all of that, you continued to move towards the fighting. That would have been plenty of information to earn a check from the police."

Shawn grinned with a predatorial edge. "No one ever said I knew when to quit."

"So I can see." Novikov didn't move, but Gus could almost physically feel the mob boss' attention shift to him. "You, Mr. Guster, seem to be a bit of an anomaly. There's hardly any information out there on what you do besides accompany Mr. Spencer here. And… sell pharmaceuticals?"

Shawn tried to answer, "He helps me-"

"I wasn't talking to you," Novikov interrupted politely.

Gus raised an eyebrow, impressed at the feat. "I help him interpret his visions and try to keep him from doing anything stupid."

"And how's that working out for you?" Novikov asked with an amused lilt in his voice.

Gus sighed, "For the record, I did tell him this was a terrible idea."

Novikov chuckled and Gus had the distinct feeling that they had passed a test. "I like you two, I'd like to make you an offer."

Shawn traded glances with Gus before asking, "Is it one we can refuse?"

Novikov lifted his hand in a controlled sweep, as though showing them the door. "Of course. I do not like my people to be unwilling. You will be released, unharmed, if you choose to not accept."

Shawn tilted his head curiously. "Ok, Vito, you've got our attention."

"As previously stated, I'm always on the lookout for local talent," Novikov said, "I believe you two fit that description. I would like to recruit you to work for me. I treat my people well, you would receive proper compensation, and I can assure you that 'your spirits' would have plenty to discover."

"And what, exactly, would you be hiring us to do?" Gus asked, his nervousness tempered by his curiosity.

Novikov sat back slightly, as though pleased with the question. "Nothing you don't already do. In fact, your day-to-day life would barely be affected. You would merely be called upon from time to time when a mystery needs solved, or a person needs read. You could even stay working with the police, I'm always happy to have a pair of eyes on the inside. And a supernatural pair would be even better."

"Interesting. But, slight problem," Shawn pointed out with a slight edge to his voice, "We help catch murderers. You're a murderer."

"I am a businessman," Novikov answered, not showing any reaction to the rebuff, "Sometimes business can be bloody. You quoted the Godfather earlier, what was it they said? 'Behind every successful fortune is a crime.' I don't kill for revenge or sport; I kill when it doesn't make sense not to."

Shawn glanced over while pinging a nervous question. Gus nodded in agreement and hoped Novikov hadn't been lying when he said they were allowed to refuse. Shawn answered, "We saw the crime scene photos… You stabbed people over twenty times with a shark-tooth knife just to make a point."

Novikov smiled with nostalgia. "Yes. Yes I did…"

"We're not interested," Shawn answered flatly.

Novikov shrugged easily. "Then our meeting has concluded. I respect you, so I will warn you; you don't want me as your enemy. Let the police conduct their own investigation without any more help from the spirit world."

The video call ended, and Gus had just enough time to meet Shawn's eyes again before the bag was pulled back over his head.

"Alright, you heard the boss," Deep Voice said cheerfully. He stressed the words, as though sharing an inside joke, "Released unharmed."

Gus frowned, suddenly nervous about what was coming next. An image of a syringe sitting on a metal box floated to the top of his mind and he firmly pushed it back down. In hindsight, 'unharmed' could mean a lot of things.

He tried to listen to the rumbling train of Deep Voice's thoughts, but before he could focus, he was being grabbed and dragged to the back of the limo. He heard the sounds of a door opening and wind rushing past before a hand was shoving between his shoulder blades and he was falling out of the vehicle.

He hit the ground hard and immediately started rolling down an incline. He tucked his head between his shoulders and prayed that he didn't hit it on the way down as his hip caught on the edge of a rock and thin branches raked his body. He was finally brought to a sudden stop by his arms and back hitting a tree trunk.

Gus groaned as he stayed still, waiting for his body to remember which direction gravity pulled as he cataloged all of his scrapes and bruises. At least it didn't feel like anything was broken.

"Gus! Talk to me!" Shawn called out, sounding like he was only a short distance away.

"Yeah, I'm good," Gus called back as he rolled to his knees and ducked his head down to try and shake the bag off. The world tilted and he stopped moving as he waited out the dizzy spell.

"I'm coming your way, keep talking!" Shawn's voice was accompanied by the crunching of unsteady feet on dry weeds and shifting rocks.

"I can't believe we just got thrown out of a limo!" Gus complained as he heard Shawn moving closer.

"I know, right? So much for 'unharmed'. My bruises have bruises!"

"When we were 'released', we were 'unharmed'," Gus said without thinking. He made a face; it was weird enough just knowing things about people around him. Just knowing things about bad guys was always slightly more disturbing.

A hand fumbled over his shoulder and he couldn't stop his flinch before Shawn said, "Here, lemme get that…"

The bag was pulled off and Gus looked up at the dark outline of his friend that was framed by the only-slightly-less-dark background of the night sky. He braced a foot against the ground and pushed himself up to standing, feeling the pull of several new bruises, scratches, and welts. He stumbled slightly as he straightened and Shawn caught him. "Woah, easy. You hurt?"

Gus answered, "Nothing big, I'm just dizzy. You?"

"No broken bones this time, I'm counting that as a win."

"How did you get your hands free?"

"I broke the zip tie. Remember, we practiced that?" Shawn reminded him.

"Oh yeah…" Gus brought his hands up as far as they could go before dropping them quickly while rotating his elbows. The plastic stayed in place and all he had to show for his effort was a pair of sore wrists.

"Yeah, it's trickier behind the back. One sec…" Shawn worked with something in his hands before feeling down Gus' arms and pulling at the zip tie. The strap suddenly loosened and Gus was able to slip his hands out of the loop.

He rubbed at his wrists, trying to chase away the stinging sensation, as he asked, "What did you do?"

"Paperclip shim," Shawn answered cheerfully as he put the tool back in his pocket, "I've been stealing them from Lassie's desk whenever we've been at the station. They're handy little things."

"Let me guess, this has been going on for the last few months?" Gus asked dryly.

"Like I said, they're handy. And they're easily overlooked," Shawn said, confirming Gus' hunch.

Gus patted his pockets and leaned down to check his ankle, nearly falling back down in the process. "Oh come on, they took my work phone!"

"... I sure hope a client doesn't call," Shawn deadpanned as he started walking back up the slope.

"Do you know how annoying it is to fill out the paperwork for a new phone, Shawn?" Gus complained as he followed, "I've already talked to HR enough this week…"

"I can't believe you just asked that. Of course I don't know about paperwork, that's what you're for!"

"...Damnit," Gus muttered as he realized Shawn was right.

They reached the top of the incline and Gus looked in both directions, unable to see anything besides the general outline of the road. Shawn stood next to him, a comforting presence in the dark. Gus finally asked what they were both thinking, "So, now what?"

"I guess we start walking. I don't suppose you were able to get a read on where we are?"

"Nah, I was hoping you'd managed to figure that out."

"Ugh, Dad's gonna be unbearable after this, " Shawn groaned. "We need to go south. Do your star thing."

Gus looked up and started identifying constellations. "We stole his truck and got kidnapped, he was already going to be unbearable."

"Yeah, but now I get to tell him that his stupid survival training was actually useful."

Gus figured out where the North Star was and pointed back towards the hill they'd been thrown down, "That way's south."

"Well, that's not useful at all," Shawn said before his tone became more cheerful, "Which means I don't have to tell Dad!"

"Issues…" Gus muttered under his breath as he started walking down the road.

"Woah, woah. Who said you could pick the direction?" Shawn asked.

Gus kept walking, "Someone has to pick."

"Yeah, so it should be the person with Indian blood!"

Gus stopped and groaned, "Shawn, we've been over this! You can't get Indian blood by working at a casino!"

"We need to go the other way," Shawn said as he stood up from where he'd been kneeling next to the road.

"And how do you know that?" Gus snapped out. "And I swear, if you say Mother Earth spoke to you…"

Shawn's thoughts clicked with faint disappointment as he discarded the joke. "The car was going your way. So, we should go this way."

Gus looked down the road before sighing and turning to walk back towards Shawn. It did make sense and it was better than his random direction choice. They started to walk together, and it didn't take Gus long to realize Shawn was limping. He grabbed Shawns shoulder to pull him to a stop. "You said you weren't hurt."

"Technically, I said I didn't have any broken bones," Shawn argued.

"Shawn!"

"I'm not hurt," Shawn muttered uncomfortably, "I just hit my bad leg on the way down…"

Gus frowned. "I thought that was done healing."

"Mostly, but it still aches sometimes." Shawn turned and started walking away, the limp less pronounced. "It's probably just bruised or something, it's fine."

Gus sighed and hurried to catch up, knowing his friend was too stubborn to let him act as a human-crutch again. "Tell me if it gets any worse, alright?"

"Yeah," Shawn agreed. "So, our first kidnapping since we got back. Five out of five stars for cool-factor, but only two stars for customer service."

"Are you kidding me?" Gus complained, "Do you know how easy it is to accidentally kill someone with a tranquilizer dart? Or how easily one of us could have broken their neck on that fall? Three stars for coolness at the most."

"Nah, that's the safety category. Kidnappings rarely do well in it," Shawn waved off the concern. "Though, does this really count as a kidnapping? They let us go before we even got to the bad guy's lair."

Gus immediately shook his head. "Kidnapping means to seize and detain or carry away by unlawful force. That's exactly what they did, it totally counts."

"I know it's too dark to see, so just know I'm rolling my eyes at you," Shawn said. "Would you be surprised if I said that wasn't actually the weirdest job interview I've had?"

Gus snorted. "You? No, it wouldn't surprise me at all."

"Dang, and you didn't even think about digging," Shawn said, sounding impressed.

Gus shrugged. "Just thinking… Something about all of that was off, but I can't figure out what."

"You mean, besides being drugged, tied up, blindfolded, threatened and thrown out of a moving car?" Shawn asked lightly.

"Yeah, besides all of that," Gus answered, still thinking about their conversation with Novikov. "Like, everything he said was just… not quite right."

"You sure it's not because you couldn't get any readings off of him?" Shawn asked before quickly continuing, not waiting for an answer, "Nah, I know what you mean."

His thoughts crested and Gus could hear Novikov's voice as Shawn replayed the memory, watching for new clues. Gus kept an ear on it while keeping his eyes on the road, knowing from experience that Shawn would walk right back into the underbrush if he was left unsupervised.

Shawn reached the end of the conversation and spoke thoughtfully. "He said he was 'always happy to have a pair of eyes on the inside'… I guess we were wrong about the mole."

"Great, so this was all for nothing…" Gus sighed.

"I mean, not completely. We got to talk to Novikov, and we know he thinks psychics are real. That's gotta count for something," Shawn pointed out. "And we learned that Jules is safe. Or, as safe as she can be, all things considered."

Gus frowned at the words as he felt a faint, nagging thought pulling at the peripheral of his mind. He tried to focus on the feeling as Shawn perked up and pointed, "Look! Trail sign!"

Shawn limped over to the sign and put his face right up to it, reading the letters in the faint moonlight. "Son of a bitch… I know where we are."

Gus was pulled out of his thoughts by the annoyed tone. "So, where are we?"

"We're on the Camino Cielo Road," Shawn answered as he threw his hands in the air, "a mob boss with a sense of humor."

"Camino as in the rival gang," Gus rolled his eyes, "and Camino as in the road that has absolutely no towns or anything on it for miles…"

"That's the one," Shawn sighed. "At least we're going the right way. There's a ranger station about five miles west of here."

"Is there a phone there?"

"Should be."

They started walking again and Gus tried to think of what had been wrong in their last conversation. He was pretty sure it had something to do with Juliet, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"You know what doesn't make sense?" Shawn asked, his thoughts cresting again. "What he said at the very beginning. He didn't think we'd meet that soon? He was already trying to grab us… Did he just think we'd hide for longer?"

Gus thought about Shawn's point. "He also said that we'd distracted his sniper. That's probably who shot us. Which means they just grabbed us because we were there…"

"And not because we'd been tracked there. Weird. Almost as weird as having a sniper with tranq darts…" Shawn snapped his fingers in realization, "He was planning on grabbing a Camino for their next message! Cas said that Rasputin would start to target members higher up on the food chain."

Gus thought about the previous messages, the people with the electrical burns around their necks and bullets in their heads. He suddenly stopped as he remembered parts of a drugged dream. And a previous dream. And the words of a psychic. And the words of a book.

And the pieces suddenly clicked into place.

"Oh my god," Gus said quietly. He shook his head; he had to be wrong. But it made sense, and it felt true.

"Gus?" Shawn asked in concern, coming back to stand in front of him.

Gus knew the answer, but he had to ask, he had to be sure. "I know this sounds crazy, just… have you ever been gagged before the basement? Specifically duct tape gagged?"

Shawn's thoughts stuttered and he stared in silence for a few seconds before answering, "No…"

Gus started to breathe faster. "Jules is in trouble, we need to get to that phone, now!"

He sprung forward to start running down the road, but Shawn grabbed him and held him back. "Woah woah, we are not running five miles in the dark after we were just thrown out of a car! I can't believe I'm being the voice of reason here… What's going on?"

Gus ducked out of the grip and started walking down the road. "Fine, but we're walking and talking." Shawn caught up to him as Gus started to explain, "The first time I ever dreamed about you, it was about the gas station, right? I was duct taped to the chair… AND I had duct tape over my mouth. That was a day before we got grabbed."

"So? It's a dream, and it's not that far of a stretch to imagine bad guys wanting to shut me up," Shawn said, confused.

"Yeah, but it felt different. I just didn't realize it…" Gus' hands began to shake and he walked faster. "The book Jade gave me said that psychic dreams are usually about the future. Jade has the power of foresight. Every single dream I've had about someone else has had things that haven't happened but still feel… true? I don't know, they feel different."

Shawn was quiet for a few moments before clarifying, "You're saying you dream about the future."

"I know, I know it sounds crazy," Gus rubbed the back of his neck, "but I also know, like psychically know, that I'm right."

"You know who you sound like, right?" Shawn pointed out testily.

Gus barely stopped himself from hitting his friend as he snapped out, "Shawn!"

"Sorry, that was uncalled for." Shawn sighed, "Look, this is just like that demon possession case. You see one or two clues that point where you want it to point, and you don't think about any other possibilities."

"You think I want to be able to see the future?" Gus argued back as he felt hysteria tugging at the edges of his mind, "I don't want to know you're going to be hung at some point, Shawn! Or that Lassie's going to get shot in the chest or that someone's going to die on the beach!"

Shawn sped up to place himself in front of Gus, forcing him to stop. He reached out to grip Gus' shoulders as he reminded, "Dude, breathe."

Gus forced himself to take several deep breaths before saying more calmly, "I've never been wrong about something I psychically know."

"There is a first time for everything," Shawn said, sounding slightly less certain.

Gus shook his head and another fragment of the drugged dream twisted into his memory, bringing a small roll of nausea with it. He vowed to himself to never consider using sleeping pills again as he told Shawn, "If I'm wrong, then why did I dream about you being thrown out of the car before it happened?"

"... Something, something, subconscious?" Shawn asked faintly.

"Your first thought after you stopped moving was about crashing your motorcycle." Gus frowned as he realized something. "Wait, you've crashed your bike four times?! Why do I only know about one of those?"

He could feel Shawn gaping at him before his friend stuttered out, "But… but I wasn't thinking… Dude..."

Gus sighed in relief at the confirmation that he wasn't going crazy. "I know."

"Dude!"

"I know!"

Shawn stared in silence for a few more seconds before shaking his head and turning around. They both started walking again as he asked, "So, what does that have to do with Jules?"

"That dream at the beginning of the case, it started off as Juliet's dream. I think it might have been Juliet the entire time. That part felt like the other… foresight stuff." Gus made a face at yet another weird phrase to get used to.

"Ok, I'm not saying you're wrong, but-"

"Then don't say it."

Shawn clicked his tongue before continuing, "That was in Drago's old place. If Jules is going to get in trouble, it won't be there."

"Did you run out of '-ov' names?" Gus asked wryly before answering Shawn's point, "I think we changed it. If I hadn't had the dream, then we wouldn't have known the Russian angle, we wouldn't have known to look for the real shipping manifest, the manager wouldn't have told Novikov about you, and he wouldn't have moved."

"Ok, so if we changed it, then why is Jules still in trouble?" Shawn asked and Gus felt a rush of affection at the complete acceptance of his new psychic weirdness.

"I had another dream… It's fuzzy, I don't think psychic abilities mix well with drugs, but Novikov still had her. He was showing her off to someone."

Shawn hesitated before asking his next question. "Were you- was she hurt?"

"She'd been shocked, yeah." Gus winced, waiting for an outburst as Shawn's thoughts ponged in agitation.

"Ok, but you said this is future stuff, right?" Shawn asked desperately. "We can still save her."

"Yeah, that's why I said we need to get to that phone," Gus said, relieved that they'd finally worked their way back to the start of the conversation.

Shawn started walking faster, still limping. "Then let's go!"

Gus matched his speed and hoped they'd be able to keep it up for the five miles they still had to go. He hoped they weren't too late.