AN: Thanks to that one person who followed this story! I hope it gets better and you like it. I'll try to update every two days, I know that's pretty long but I have over 1,000 words per chapter so maybe that makes up for it? That's the only time I can write so I'll try my best to stay on schedule... Anyway, this chapter ends pretty anti-climatically but it's what I had written and there really wasn't a good place to stop the chapter. I know a lot of people are going to think Shawn is pretty ooc in this chapter but I don't really think so considering the situation he's in. Anyway, I hope you like it, not much happens in this chapter but it's still pretty important.
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The four men were sharing a hospital room. Reid wanted to be checked out as soon as his leg was set, but he was badly shaken and the doctors convinced his team not to leave until the next morning, saying they could give him a sedative to make him sleep better (which Reid stalwartly refused, to no one's surprise). Shawn was quiet as he watched Lassiter and Morgan have their stomachs pumped, and the BAU team noticed that the psychic's friends seemed unnerved at his silence and stillness. Spencer tried to start up a conversation with the other male, but Shawn only looked over, his face pale, and whispered "Someone got into the station. I had just made that coffee." He looked back over at Detective Lassiter and didn't speak again for awhile. When he did, the room was quiet except for the sound of the heart monitors and Shawn's father's snoring, and what he said hit Spencer like a truck.
"If you had drank your cup as well, I think I would be dead."
"Methamphetamines," was the first thing Hotch said when he walked into the room a couple hours later. It was dark out now, around eight o'clock, and he offered a folder for Reid to look over, for which the younger man was grateful. He was going stir crazy. "They overdosed, the same drug used to kill the five victims."
"So it's not a coincidence." Spencer looked over and saw the psychic staring, his eyes looking lost and more than a little scared. It was the loudest he had spoken since he had woken up and gotten the extent of his injuries (a cracked rib, two broken ribs, another bruised rib, a broken wrist, a mild concussion, a dislocated shoulder; all in all, it could have been worse, but it also could have been better, and Reid thought that Detective Lassiter must have one hell of an arm). Shawn met Agent Hotchner's eyes and saw no emotion in them, nothing that could comfort him or tell him he was wrong.
"No, it was definitely intentional," Hotch said slowly, and Reid could tell he was holding something back. He shifted through the files in front of him, staring at a written report even after he had quickly read it. Before he could say anything, Shawn spoke up.
"You're hiding something. Something that makes you suspicious of me." Hotch didn't speak for a moment.
"We watched the security footage. No one touched the coffee except you, when you went to make the new pot. We watched the footage for the whole day, and only my agents, your Chief, and you touched the coffee." Reid almost laughed - he didn't blame the other officers for not touching the coffee, they probably went out and bought something better on their breaks. Shawn sagged back onto his pillows, staring at the ceiling.
"So you think it was me. Or, you don't, because you're telling me and not interrogating me, but any judge and jury would think it was me." Hotch didn't respond.
"Hotch," Reid started, looking up at his boss, "there's no way it was Shawn. We finished the geographical profile - someone's targeting him. I think that-" He stopped suddenly, realizing it wouldn't be a good idea to talk about the case like this in front of Shawn, but the psychic continued for him.
"They're murders are in place of sex crimes, aren't they?" He laughed coldly. "I've got some sick bastard after my ass, thinking that trying out a woman or another guy will satisfy him."
Hotch's face was stony. "You're perceptive." Shawn shot him a glance before gesturing to the sleeping form of Henry Spencer in the chair next to him.
"My father was a detective, Agent, and I'm a psychic." The lie rolled off his tongue easily. "I've seen sexual sadists before, though I doubt I've seen as many as you."
"I doubt that as well. We'll schedule a guard outside the room for now." Hotch glanced at his younger agent. "Call me if something happens or if Morgan wakes up?" Reid nodded as Hotch pulled out his ankle gun, placing it on the bedside table next to Reid.
"You think he's going to target Shawn directly now?" Hotch hesitated.
"He's somewhere inside," Shawn supplied instead. "He tampered with the coffee and knows about the investigation. He either thought you guys were getting too close to him, or he thought you... were getting too close to me." He grit his teeth, glancing at Spencer. "Don't mention this to my dad when he wakes up. He'll freak out."
"If it's the second option, which I hope it's not, it's less likely he'll go after Shawn and more likely he'll go after you." Reid swallowed as he met his boss's eyes.
"Me?"
"You were the one with Shawn all day, it's likely he sees you as a threat. Shawn was going to make coffee for you, wasn't he? He probably wanted to take you out before you could get to close to Shawn - he felt threatened."
Shawn couldn't help it. Panic was starting to set heavy on his chest at the thought of people being hurt or killed over him, of his friends being hurt.
And then a gasp tore itself from his throat, startling his dad awake and drawing the eyes of the agents. "Gus." His voice came out barely a whisper as panic and desperation clawed at his throat. "He- He's been sick- What if he's not sick?!"
His dad rose, putting an arm on his shoulder and glancing at the agents, concerned to see his son so frantic. "Shawn, what's going on?"
Shawn met eyes with Agent Hotchner, trying hard to swallow down the fear in his throat. "He's at home, he's alone- W-what if the guy poisoned him-" His chest tightened and the panic got the better of him, making him grab his phone and dial quickly. Agent Hotchner was on his own phone, and his dad and Spencer were trying to talk to him, but he blocked them out as the phone rang and rang and Gus' voice came on.
"I can't come to the phone right now, leave a message-"
His phone dropped out of his hands and he didn't seem to notice them shaking. His mind was running through scenarios, each worse than the last, each with the same result: Gus was dead, and it's his fault. He didn't notice himself growing lightheaded until he felt his dad rubbing circles on his sternum, urging him to draw a much needed breath. He didn't notice Spencer holding his arm, or Agent Hotchner on his own cellphone. An attractive woman with dark hair came into view and started talking to him, and he struggled to focus on her words through the pounding of his blood in his ears. Blankly he placed her as Agent Prentiss.
"Shawn. Shawn, I know it's hard, but I need you to breathe for me." Her voice soothed him and he slowed down his pants, his vision clearing slightly as he drew oxygen into his spasming lungs. "Alright, that's good. I know you're worried, and this situation is hard. Me and my team are going to make sure Gus is alright, we'll protect him, but I need you to tell me his address so we can check on him." Vaguely Shawn noticed Agent Morgan was awake and shouting at Spencer from across the room - Reid ignored him, focusing on Shawn. The psychic rattled off his friend's address and Hotch repeated it into the phone to JJ, asking her to go with Detective O'Hara and check on him. "Alright Shawn, that's good." Emily kept talking to the panicking man; Henry, his father, was pacing around the room, running a hand over his head, trying to reach someone on his phone and watching his son with panic and worry. "Now I know that you're scared. Anyone would be. But I want you to know that we're going to protect you, and your friends. And I want you to know that the deaths so far have not been your fault. You can't control this psycho. This is not your fault."
Those words calmed Shawn down instantly and he gasped out a sob, breaking down into tears as the stress of adrenaline and panic caught up to him. Spencer and Emily continued to soothe the man as he cried, and Shawn didn't even have the energy in him to be embarrassed. He was only glad that Lassie wasn't awake to see him.
He wanted Gus. More than anything, he wanted to see Gus and make sure he was okay. It was his fault. He should have noticed that Gus was only getting sicker, he should have thought about poison - but why should he have? There was nothing indicating someone was after him. He replayed Agent Prentiss' words in his mind over and over: This is not your fault. This is not your fault.
Reid wasn't surprised when the psychic cried himself to sleep. He was more surprised that the energetic, easygoing man had begun to cry in the first place, but then, it was also understandable. He couldn't begin to imagine what was going through Shawn's mind right now.
Slowly, holding his bruised stomach, he made his way back to his own bed and managed to lie down. Hotch and Prentiss were attempting to explain the situation to Morgan, and Morgan looked like he might break down himself as he listened to what he had done, looking at Reid in horror. But everyone broke off as Henry forced out a broken whisper.
"What is happening to my son. Please, tell me now." Henry wanted to be angry. He wanted to be furious, he wanted to yell. But all he could think of was Shawn crying over the fact that Gus was sick, and the agents saying something wasn't his fault. He didn't understand. He couldn't be angry. He was distraught, and for once he couldn't hide it on his face. Something was happening to Shawn. He hadn't protected his son well enough, and now something had happened and he didn't know if Shawn would be the same. "Please."
