Psych is not mine. If it was then it wouldn't be ending so soon.
The first day he could finally start to feel his medication working its magic, he'd convinced half the patients to give him their pineapple cups during lunch. He'd even gone to every ridiculous therapy session, and got to sneak in an extra twenty minutes on the phone with Jules.
The second day, he'd barely made it through meals. He'd given away most of his food when the nurses weren't watching and picked over what he had left. Even the thought of pineapple didn't entice his tummy to rumble like usual. Shawn had made it to the therapy sessions but slept through them, despite the loud argument between two patients over something stupid.
Sleeping through a session – whether present or not – to the hospital was counted as an absence.
Phone privileges reduced.
It had been Juliet's one last night off duty for the rest of the week.
The third day, he'd sat in his room trying to stay awake to enjoy the coloring books Juliet and Gus had left him the last time they had visited. The nurses came around to check on him, going down a list since his status was always changing:
No, I haven't hung myself with my sheets, yet.
Okay, he'd learned quickly that humor was not taken kindly here. That had earned him a night under heavy supervision. He couldn't even close the bathroom door. Worst of all, they'd taken his sheets and wouldn't give them back no matter how many times he tried to explain his unwelcomed joke.
No, I'm not stashing my pills anywhere (But you may want to check Stephen's drawers).
No, I haven't showered yet, and I forgot to do it yesterday. Why does that matter?
By the end of the first week, he'd called Juliet as many times as he could, alternating between the residence's two patients-only phones. It was damn near impossible to get a hold of her at the times he was able to try, and when he could she had to wave him off quickly, but politely, because they'd finally gotten a lead on a case. If he weren't in this hellhole he wouldn't have to call, he'd be right beside her, Lassie, and Gus, eating delicious pineapples and solving murders.
They had strict rules here: Phones must be off the hook during group therapy sessions. Try to limit thirty minutes per call. If you do not attend the group therapy sessions, your phone calls were limited to the evening after either dinner or after you were seen by your treating Doctor.
He was fortunate to experience the last rule already.
Shawn had watched his roommate call and flirt with his own girlfriend for exactly forty-three minutes twelve seconds. Thirteen minutes and twelve seconds over the standard limit. Yes, he had been counting; and if anyone asked about where he'd disappeared to immediately afterward, he hadn't closed himself in his room and cried like a little bitch for half an hour. Men don't cry, at least that was what his dad always taught him.
It didn't make sense. Ever since his mistake everything had been thrown out of whack: his freedom, his emotions, his relationships, and even his usually perfect observational skills. What was the point of being in a place that should be helping him when all it did was make him feel worse?
The next day was no better.
"You're a liar, psychic."
"Now Sherbert—"
"Herbert!"
"Herbie, when have I lied to you? I already proved that I'm a psychic."
"You're psychic, but that's not the reason you came here." Shawn blinked and leaned forward. If he wasn't questioning his psychic abilities then what else could he want? "I knew I remembered your face from somewhere, and last night I finally remembered. The same day I came here, there was a news special about some idiot trying to jump from some building. That idiot was you, wasn't it?"
The accused psychic broke into a nervous grin. "There have been plenty of people who have tried to jump off buildings. You can't point fingers just because you've seen my handsome face on the news before. I'm a psychic detective, I've been in papers and on tv."
Herb bit his finger and stood, anxiously running a hand through his hair. "That's the thing." Shawn hoped to God that Herbert wasn't about to say what he thought he was. "The headline said that the city psychic was going to jump. That city psychic is you, which means you tried to off yourself."
"Very impressive. Maybe you should be a detective too someday."
"By the looks of it, Mr. Psychic, if you can't handle being a detective than neither could I." Herb sat once more. "So, why'd you try to do it? A case go wrong? Or maybe you're like me and your brain doesn't quite work right."
"My brain is fine, perfect. Look, nice talk dude, but I think it's snack time and—"
"You sure?"
"A man never lies about snack time."
"No, I mean your brain." Shawn paused to listen to his now enemy, Herbert. "It starts off as 'normal' then suddenly something snaps!" Herb exaggerated by snapping a nearby pencil in half. "And then shit hits the fan. Suddenly you're a little down, then you want to kill yourself, or your family, and before you can stop yourself from spiraling it's all over and they're gone, because of you. Because you didn't listen to your brain crying for help. How would that feel?"
Shawn gulped. "Like Godzilla finally destroyed Tokyo and I didn't get to TiVo it."
"What the fuck does that even mean?" Herbert cried, catching the attention of several nurses.
Shawn easily waved it off and moved to leave. "Sorry, that movie was before your time."
"I know what Godzilla is! Oh, and is it really snack time?" He shouted after Shawn. However, Shawn was on a new mission, snack time could wait.
"Shawn, being suicidal does not make you homicidal as well. Many patients just like you have come and gone, most of them I've never heard from again."
Shawn spun around. "That doesn't mean nothing happened after they left."
"No, but it does mean that they never ended up on the news for committing a murder. Some patients are beyond help if they refuse to take their medication or go against medical advice, but you I can see recovering." The doctor smiled, the skin near his eyes crinkling together. "In fact, today has been a huge breakthrough for you."
This caused a pause in his frustrated patient. "It has?"
"Yes," he nodded. The doctor made to reach for his clipboard but retracted his hand after remembering Shawn's affinity towards being openly documented. No use having a breakthrough if he ruined it by shutting the door to trust that Shawn just opened. "This is the first time that you referred to your attempt as is, rather than a 'psychic vision'."
Shawn's face grew red. "That…I was channeling a sprit! He just wanted us to know that he's no killer."
Crossing his legs, the doctor nodded, playing along. "Oh? But if this spirit is dead then why is he so afraid of hurting others? He can't touch the living anymore, well except for you, Shawn, since you are 'psychic' and all. It just doesn't make sense."
Shawn threw his hands up in the air and cursed under his breath. "Look, can I leave now?"
"Of course, this is an emergency session that you called for. It's unscheduled. You can leave whenever you want." The good doctor pulled out his clipboard and just as Shawn's hand reached the doorknob, he spoke, "Just so we're clear. You are not a danger to anyone but yourself at this point. Your medications do have a chance of causing some adverse side-effects that could cause mild irritation or, in some cases, temporary psychosis but it's very rare."
"So I'm okay?" Shawn asked quietly.
"You're okay," the doctor answered.
A small smile tugged at the fake psychic's lips, and with more confidence, he opened the door.
"Hey, Psychic," Shawn groaned. "Psych, you've got a visitor. She's pretty hot, man. Don't keep the lady waiting." His roommate's footsteps faded, but soon came back with an extra pair. He immediately recognized the distinct click of heels. It almost made him slide open his heavy eyelids to peek over at the entrance, but the weight of his craving to continue sleeping won. He sank further under his blankets. "Psych, your girl," Rodney whispered urgently.
"Shawn?" Juliet called, lowering her voice to match Rodney's. "Shawn, I'm not supposed to be back here. Wake up so we can go talk." She smiled when his ruffled hair poked out of the sheets, followed by a disgruntled face. "Good morning."
"What time is it?" Shawn slurred. He looked to his quiet roommate. "G-Rod?"
"It's a little after breakfast. You missed it, dude. You got a mark." Rodney admitted painfully. "Tried to wake you up but you were out cold."
Shawn cursed and then turned his attention to his girlfriend. "You're here early."
"I wanted to see you before I got tied up in work. I can't visit for a while." Juliet stroked his cheek lovingly and leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead. How are you—"
"Can't do this here," Rodney hissed through clenched teeth. He bounced nervously on his heels. "If they find her in here with you, you'll get another mark. Two marks in one day is not good…Actually three since you also missed this morning's group." Shawn shot him a hard glare. "Like I said, I tried to wake you up."
"Shawn you can't miss meetings like that," Juliet chastised.
"I know. I know." Shawn rose to his feet and searched the room for his robe and pants. When he was settled he quickly lead Juliet out into the open. His eyes drifted to the nurse board and he let out a long breath. Nadia, he'd noticed that whenever someone got her they could get away with a little bit more. Even now he could see that, she'd spotted them but merely looked away with a wry smile.
When they were finally seated, Juliet spoke up. "I heard they put you on medicine."
Shawn hummed at that, not sure how he wanted to respond with that one. "Yeah."
"Is it working?"
"Well it's doing something," he grumbled, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm.
Juliet frowned slightly. "What is it supposed to do?"
Great, an even better question. "Uh…it's an anti-depressant, I think. You know, a happy pill."
Juliet frowned. "When it's someone close to you the term happy pill isn't funny anymore," she admitted. "Can we call it something else?"
"They told me the science-y name for it once. Well…they gave me a pamphlet but I lost it right after I got it." Juliet threw back her head and let out a laugh. So predictable of him. Just the normalcy of it all made her heart so much lighter than when she first walked in. Almost as if they were back home. "I'll ask Gus the next time he comes." Shawn said, and then took a moment to really concentrate on himself. "I feel fine. A little happier I guess. They even moved my threat level down to yellow."
"I'm proud of you Shawn," Juliet smiled and took hold of one of his hands. "Keep going. I want to see you happy and healthy really soon. I miss sleeping next to you. It's cold."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart."
"Don't be." She locked her gaze with his, and gave a firm yet gentle squeeze to the hand she held. "Shawn, never say sorry for something you can't control. I understand. We all do."
Welcome back to the story! It's been a while. I've been sick with dealing with depression of my own, so writing this fic was a huge no. I'm still up and down but better for now. Hopefully you guys still like it despite it being so long. Plus, Shawn is going through a lot of changes. I'm not sorry if his personality is somewhat off. Why? Because depression makes you not truly you anymore. Add on the fact that he's taking medication for the first time and having to deal with negative side-effects, and you get a sleepy and kind of emotionally out of control Spencer. I am however sorry for any accidental jumps or inconsistencies.
I was going to say something else...oh well it'll come back to me eventually.
Anyway, Tell me what you think? Good or bad? (Un-beta'd cuz I'm a lazy piece of shit.)