Welcome to my very first deathfic. I don't know what came over me and made me write this. I'm not even sad right now. Just inspired.
I was writing the next chapter of my current story "The Wrongly Accused" where Shawn and Juliet are in a similar situation, and wondered how it would play out if he died. So I decided to write it.
I wasn't even going to post this, but I figured 'Why not?' and did. I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Psych
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It's funny. People always say that these kinds of things happen in slow motion. They say that when you have to just sit and watch as someone you care about suffers, a minute seems like a lifetime.
It's funny because it's a lie.
It happens in an instant.
In one moment, one breath, one second, everything changes. One moment things are normal and happy and right, and the next just…cold. One moment you have your whole life ahead of you, the next you don't see how you can live for one more minute. One moment he's alive, the next he's dead.
I could go through the details. I could tell you about the perp we were chasing, and I could tell you about how he was shot, and I could tell you how he died. But it doesn't matter. Not anymore. He's gone. He's dead. Why does it matter?
He was the kind of guy that seemed immortal. The idea of him dying—of him essentially ceasing to exist—is just too…impossible. Inconceivable. Wrong.
He had so much life in him. He had this love of living that is so rare and beautiful that it breaks me to see it gone.
I feel cold. Empty. Alone. It's like someone took away the sun. How can I live without the sun?
The regret is swallowing me. Every cross word I said to him, every time I ignored him, every time I turned him down. There shouldn't be so many of them. Maybe if there weren't things would be different. I don't know how, but still. Maybe.
Maybe I could have stopped it. I am the cop. It should've been me, not him. I should've been the one to disappear. It should've been me.
People keep telling me not to think like that. They keep telling me that I did everything I could and that I should meet new people. God, how I want to shoot them. Do they not get it? Do they not get that he's dead? As in gone forever.
I'll never see his face again or his smile. I'll never hear him making fun of my partner again or shamelessly flirting with me. I'll never feel that little flutter my heart does every time he walks by.
I just don't get it. I don't get how my entire live revolves around helping people—saving them—and I couldn't save the only one that's ever mattered. How messed up is that? Why does it work that way? Why can someone give so much to have everything taken away?
Because everything was taken away from me. My faith. My hope. My happiness. The love I had for my job. Him. Everything.
And now I'm just… empty. Broken. Cold. I've used those words a lot lately. I've used them because there's really no other way to describe how I feel.
All I want to do is cry or scream or die. I want to just scream my pain from the rooftops. I want the pain to end. I want—no, need—the pain to stop.
But how? That's right. There is no how. There is no way. So I've done the only thing I can. I'm numb. I'm empty. I'm cold. There's nothing left in me. I'm like the oyster without the pearl.
They say it will pass. Everybody says it will. And maybe they're right. I'm young, healthy—unless my job claims me I've got a long way to go. Maybe I'll heal. Maybe I'll move on. But I'll never forget.
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She had to make a choice. She could go after him, or she could wait for back up. If she waited, a dangerous killer would most likely get away.
"Stay here, Shawn. Wait for back up and then follow me," Juliet ordered, pointing to the ground at her feet for emphasis.
"You can't seriously think I'm going to let you chase that psycho alone," Shawn said, more serious than she'd ever seen him.
"This isn't up for discussion, Shawn. Stay here," Without waiting for a response Juliet set off, full out sprinting after the suspect. She didn't turn back. Not once.
When Juliet turned a corner she saw the barrel of a gun. Acting purely on instinct, the detective dove to the ground. The gun went off, putting a harmless hole in the wall. Seconds after she hit the ground she heard another gunshot from the suspect's weapon. Juliet didn't have time to wonder where it went, as she was busy aiming and firing her own weapon.
Her bullet hit its mark, ripping straight through the perp's upper torso. He hit the ground with a resounding thud. He was dead before he reached the floor.
Juliet stood up and replaced her weapon in its holster. Then she heard a pained whimper. Immediately she knew what had happened, though she prayed she was wrong. Slowly the detective turned towards the noise.
Her heart stopped.
There lay Shawn in an increasingly large pool of his own blood.
"Shawn!" An agonized scream cut through the room.
Juliet ran as fast as she could to her friend and fell to her knees beside him.
"Oh God, Shawn," She cried, seeing the severity of his condition. The criminal's bullet had ripped through Shawn's stomach, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.
"Th-That b-bad?" He shot Juliet a pained smile. The detective could feel her heart break.
She took off her jacket, balled it up, and pushed it into Shawn's stomach, eliciting a cry of pain from the man.
"Sorry, Shawn, but it's necessary. Just until the paramedics get here to take you to the hospital."
"Jules. Y-You d-didn't call f-for a param-medic," Shawn stuttered painfully.
Juliet's heart sank to her toes. Shawn was right. She had requested back up, but not an ambulance.
She stuffed one hand into her pocket, keeping the other firmly over Shawn's wound, and dialed.
"We have a man down, I repeat, man down! Requesting medical assistance immediately!" She spoke into the phone, trying to keep her voice as level and controlled as possible.
When finished Juliet snapped her phone shut and returned her attention to Shawn. His breathing was becoming increasingly labored, and his blood was soaking through her jacket.
"Just hang in there, Shawn," She begged him, barely restraining her tears.
Shawn managed to lift his right hand and grasp onto her wrist. "I'm trying Jules. I just don't think that I… that I…" He was breathing heavily between words, "that…I…can."
Juliet felt a single tear slip down her cheek, but made no move to wipe it away. "Don't say that, Shawn. You're going to be just fine."
Shawn smiled sadly. Juliet realized that he was crying. "No, Jules. I'm not." His voice broke. Juliet gave up her battle against her tears.
Shawn lifted the hand that was holding Juliet's up to his face. He held it against his forehead for a moment, closing his eyes at the contact, kissed it, and then his grip relaxed. His eyes closed.
"No! Shawn! Please, Shawn! Don't do this!" Juliet cried. She grabbed his shoulders and started shaking them. "Wake up, Shawn! Don't you dare do this to me! Please! Please, Shawn, wake up!" She screamed.
"O'Hara!" Juliet didn't even register her name being called. "O'Hara! Juliet!" She felt the familiar presence of her partner behind her as he laid a hand on her shoulder. Juliet shoved him off.
"Come on, Shawn!" She continued to scream and sob and shake Shawn, trying to wake him up.
"Stop it, O'Hara. He's gone. Let him go," Lassiter reasoned with her. His voice sounded just as broken as she looked.
When Juliet refused, Lassiter griped her shoulders firmly and pried her away from the psychic. She fought against him, but was no match for his strength.
"No, let me go! Shawn!" She cried hysterically. She kicked and struggled, but Lassiter maintained his iron grip on her shoulders.
After a moment Lassiter turned Juliet around to face him and let her collapse onto him, sobs wracking her body. Violent, broken sobs.
Lassiter felt the psychic's blood soaking from Juliet's clothes to his, but he didn't care. He looked over his partner's shoulder to Shawn and felt something inside of him break. He was laying, spread eagle, with his shirt drenched in blood. His face looked calm and peaceful, contradicting the rest of his appearance.
He didn't know how long he stood there, just holding Juliet. They were still standing there after Shawn's body was taken from the scene. He thought it was best: She didn't need to see Shawn like that anymore. She didn't need to remember him like that.
When she finally pulled away, it took Lassiter one glance to know that nothing would ever be the same.
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Wow. That was sort of depressing. I seriously cried writing this. The saddest thing I've ever written, for sure.
Please review, guys! I really appreciate hearing what you have to say.