A/N: Okay, I just wanted to write depressed Shawn again...part of this scene is greatly inspired by the episode "Shawn Rescues Darth Vader" but doesn't really follow it exactly. Excuse mistakes regarding the law, or correct me nicely :)

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Chapter 2: What I need Hates Me

Shawn stared at the black screen of the television, his movie binge had long since ended and all he could do was turn off the TV. He chewed his lip, maybe he would just sleep on the couch tonight, because he really didn't feel like moving.

It had been 3 days since Shawn's revelation that there was no chance in hell that Carlton could ever love him back, and the psychic was falling deeper into himself.

The thought of fleeing once again crossed his mind, followed by the urge to use a different method of forgetting his woes.

He sat for a moment, tapping his leg at a rapid pace before bolting from the couch and into the small kitchen.

He flicked on the light and his eyes traveled to the knife block. It could help. He thought in desperation, and it wasn't like anyone would be seeing him naked anytime soon.

He held the blade, running his fingers along the sharp edges before placing it against his forearm. A loud knocking stopped him before he could even start. He quickly placed the knife on the counter, confusion and paranoia entering his mind as he made his way to the door of his apartment. He passed a clock on his way, surprised to find that it was only 9 PM. Maybe the visitor was just Gus.

He swung the door open, placing a goofy grin on his face. "To what to I owe the pleasure...Lassie?"

Carlton Lassiter stood smugly in the doorway, arms crossed, his beloved handcuffs dangling by his fingers.

"Shawn Spencer, you're being brought in for questioning."

"Excuse me?" He asked, bewildered.

"I said." Lassiter stepped further into the man's space, tightly cuffing Shawn's wrists, "You're being brought into the station for questioning."

"And you're handcuffing me for that?"

"You're lucky I'm not arresting you, and that is purely for O'hara." Carlton replied, pushing him out of the door.

"Why the hell would you arrest me?" Shawn's voice was angry, angry that he was clueless, and angry at how much Lassiter wanted to throw him in jail.

"That's typically what you do when you suspect someone of murder." His reply was short as he ducked Shawn's head into his Crown Vic.

.

.

.

Everyone was at the station, Gus and his father included, watching as the head detective forced Shawn into an interrogation room. Gus, Henry, Juliet, and the Chief followed shortly after, unable to just watch him suffer.

In the room, atop the generic metal table, sat a polygraph machine. Shawn shook his head in disgust, he'd learned truly of his 'charges' on the way over, and couldn't believe that they actually thought he'd murdered someone.

He turned to face the small crowd, "Is this really necessary?"

"Yes." Nearly everyone's voices sounded off, except Gus's (for which Shawn was grateful). He sat in the chair on the receding end of the test, allowing Lassiter to attach every wire and suction piece to his body. He fought off the feeling growing in both his chest and groin. He thinks you murdered someone and you still want to fuck him. Nice, Shawn. The bitter thought came with a grimace.

Lassiter returned to the opposite chair, playing with the machine before asking his first question. "What is your name?"

Sensing that they were far beyond the time for joking, Shawn grit his teeth. "Shawn Spencer."

Carlton checked off the correct response, "Is this you in this photo?" He asked, holding up the surveillance screenshot the young Spencer had already been questioned about.

"No." Correct. displayed across the sheet, in the form of organized lines.

"Where were you yesterday evening, at 7:30?" He moved onto the next question, avoiding admitting that Shawn told the truth.

Shawn hesitated, not really wanting to explain his lonesome, drunken, suicidal night. "I was at Duley's Pub."

"For how long?"

Again, he hesitated. Everyone's focus remained on him, and he didn't want to see their reactions. "From 5 pm till 2 am..."

Correct. He saw the looks of disbelief, and some of concern.

"You were at a bar for 9 hours? Shawn, what the hell!" Gus chastised him immediately, but Shawn ignored him.

"Are we done here? You can call the bar, I was there." Shawn huffed, standing up. He was shot down by the detective.

"Not so fast, I have another question."

Shawn's face fell flat, he knew what the question would be but he also knew how to evade it. He sat down, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he spoke. "And what would that be, detective?

The other occupants of the room tensed, not only at Shawn's attitude, but at the realization of what he was soon to be asked.

"Are you a psychic?"

With a face void of emotions, the man mentally prepared himself-making him believe in his answer as he watched Gus sigh. "Yes."

Correct. The group studied the lie detector, faces in stunned silence. Carlton sputtered, "Let me rephrase it, do you possess supernatural abilities that allow you to see or predict the future?"

Shawn was growing more furious by the second, Why did..do I love you? "Yes." I mean nothing to you. You want me to rot in a cell.

"Are you able to know things that others don't because of your gift?" Lassiter tried again, desperately.

Shawn's lips pursed, "Let me ask you a question, Carlton."

Everyone in the room looked towards Shawn, the pure rage flowing in his words grabbing their entire attention. "What did I ever do to you?"

"Excuse me?" The detective asked, moderately confused.

"What did I do to you? Why do you hate me?" Shawn began to ramble, losing sight of everyone in the room. The nightmare, surely it had to be a nightmare? Was draining him, and he was frustrated.

Carlton opened his mouth to respond, but Shawn cut him off unintentionally, for he didn't think he was really there. "I try so god damned hard to get your attention, and I know..I know sometimes it's too much, but I can't help myself! I can't help that I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU!" Shawn cried out the end of the sentence, suddenly aware that he really was surrounded by his coworkers.

Each of the members in the room leaned forward to check the machine, except for Shawn, of course. He knew what it would say. The room was deafeningly silent, and Shawn's body was frozen in place as Lassiter looked up at him with displeasure.

The negative reaction drew Shawn out of his numb composure, and he tore the wires off of his skin. "I..I'm done here. You know I didn't murder that man."

He could hardly look at anyone as he fled the room, and he wasn't sure if he ever would again.