Gus was quickly deciding that being dragged around by his arm needed to be added to his 'getting really tired of this shit' list. That list was becoming very long.
He gritted his teeth at the pain and tried to get his feet to listen to his commands, his legs stiff from his injuries as well as the extended amount of time curled up in the trunk. Dahmer finally stopped at the yellow house's porch and let Gus get his feet back under his body before forcing him up the steps. Rhianna trailed behind them, her nose buried in her notes as she wrote out a series of calculations, completely ignoring anything going on in front of her.
Gus was shoved through the door and pulled to a stop as Dahmer felt along the wall and hit the light switch. The lights came on in the stairway as well as the basement and Gus felt a burst of anger when he realized Shawn had been left alone in the dark. The anger quickly morphed to concern when the smell hit him, blood and sweat and urine. Dahmer muttered to himself as he grabbed Gus again and shoved him towards the stairs. Gus stumbled and did his best to keep his footing as he made his way down.
He craned his neck, trying to see Shawn, and his heart nearly stopped when his best friend was finally visible. Shawn looked terrible; his chin dropped to his chest, his hair matted in dry sweat, blood tinting the edges of the zip ties holding him in place, a noticeable wetness staining the front of his jeans. Worse than all of that though was the fact that he wasn't moving. Gus couldn't even tell if he was breathing.
Gus called out in concern through his gag and felt a rush of relief when Shawn startled awake. Shawn looked around frantically, reorienting himself, before finally meeting Gus' eyes. Gus thought his ponging thoughts might be the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Shawn made a muffled sound of relief behind his own gag before it morphed to one of concern as Dahmer snarled and shoved Gus forward, sending him tumbling down the last few steps.
"I'm getting very tired of having to constantly tell you two to be quiet!"
Gus groaned in response as he lay stunned at the bottom of the stairs, his leg bursting in agony. Shawn sent a worried visual at him: A bald man in a gray shirt, sitting next to his miniature twin, miming zipping his mouth closed.
"Get up…" Dahmer grabbed Gus and dragged him to his chair. "Stay. You two have caused enough trouble today."
Gus breathed through the pain and decided Dahmer must need coffee. It could explain why he was being so grumpy, even though he'd just had everything go his way for the last several hours. It was well into the early morning after all.
Gus felt a sudden pang of longing. He wanted coffee. He let the thought distract him as Dahmer placed his large bag of horrors on the kitchen counter and dug through it before pulling out the duct tape and new zip ties.
Gus didn't bother trying to fight as Dahmer unlocked his cuffs, zip tied his hands back to the armrests and wrapped the duct tape around his chest and each leg, securing him tightly to the chair. It had been a long day and Gus just wanted a chance to talk with Shawn alone. He needed to be sure his friend was ok.
Dahmer checked Gus' restraints one last time before turning to his other captive. He walked up to Shawn and reached out to finger one of the bloody zip ties; Shawn flinched away, nervously watching the bad guy's hands. Dahmer smirked at the movement before his hand moved lower, tracing the dark stain on Shawn's inner thigh. His nose wrinkled in distaste as he grumbled, "You reek. We're gonna have to do something about that…"
Faint shame colored Shawn's thoughts and he looked away, his body tense as Dahmer wiped the finger off on a dry section of his jeans. Dahmer giggled at his obvious discomfort before reaching forward suddenly, grabbing Shawn by the chin and forcing him to look up and meet his eyes. "Remember what I told you?"
Shawn glared but jerked his head in a quick nod, his thoughts suddenly quieting as half of them vanished. Gus wondered what poison Dahmer had said when he had gone back to the basement, but it was obvious that Shawn didn't want him to know. Gus respected his wishes and didn't dig.
Dahmer kept holding Shawn's head in place as he turned to speak calmly to Gus, "You're fortunate that you behaved so well during the scans, you saved your friend some pain. It's too late to clean up any more blood, but actions do need to have consequences…"
Gus tensed in dread and the void roared in delight as Dahmer lashed out, punching Shawn in the face with a loud crack. He didn't give Shawn any time to recover before pulling back his foot and kicking the belt-wrapped broken leg.
Shawn let out a muffled scream that was quickly choked off as Dahmer grabbed his chin again and gave him a dark look of warning. Gus pulled pointlessly against the zip ties, glaring in fury as his best friend was hurt in front of him.
Dahmer turned and met his glare with a grin, "If you don't want him to be hurt, stop making me have to hurt him."
He let go of Shawn and walked over, leaning down and gripping Gus' shot leg in reminder, "You had to have known this would cost him."
Dahmer squeezed and Gus flinched back into his chair, forcing himself to stay quiet for Shawn's sake even as his vision went white with pain. Dahmer finally let go and patted him on the cheek before walking away. He called out to them cheerfully, "Have a nice night psychics."
Dahmer went up the steps, leaving them both gagged and panting quietly in pain. There was a small click before the lights went out and they were surrounded by darkness.
Gus let out a growl, he really really hated that man.
Shawn answered him: Charlie Sheen
Gus grunted in an affirmative. Dahmer was definitely an asshole and a dick.
Shawn let out a tight groan: Peter Griffin grabbing his leg and hissing in exaggerated pain.
Gus whined back softly. He wished he could say something to apologize for getting Shawn hurt again, or just to explain what Dahmer was punishing him for.
Shawn pinged a concerned question: Gus' bruised throat, his leg wrapped in duct tape, a new growing bruise on the side of his face.
Gus tried to make a reassuring noise back, wishing broadcasts could go both ways. Shawn had just been left alone for hours, they were finally together again, and Gus couldn't even communicate with him. He growled in frustration. It wasn't fair.
Shawn was quiet for a moment before he hummed a quick tune: Play that funky music white boy.
Gus made an indignant noise back before realizing Shawn had just given him a way to talk. He quickly hummed back: Play me a song you're the piano man.
Shawn huffed in satisfaction before sending a visual, repeating his question: neck, leg, face.
Gus felt all of his injuries acutely as he answered: I fought the law and the law won.
Shawn pinged in approval: Dahmer's bruised nose, his bandaged hand, the line of red on his arm.
Gus made an affirmative sound, wishing he'd been able to hurt Dahmer more.
Shawn sent another visual of his bandaged leg with a questioning ping.
Gus sighed, hoping that the pain in his leg would die down a bit now that he wasn't moving: Hit me with your best shot.
He realized that might not be enough, so he added to the answer: I shot the sheriff, but I didn't shoot no deputy.
Shawn yelped loudly when he understood the answer. Gus growled softly at him, reminding him to stay quiet. Shawn growled back: Dahmer screaming loudly as hot pokers were thrust through his feet.
Gus made an approving affirmative sound back, not caring what it meant about him that he didn't even flinch at the vivid image. He decided it was time to ask a question back.
He hummed a quiet Michael Jackson squeal to give Shawn context before asking: So, Annie are you ok? Are you ok, Annie?
Shawn snorted at the song choice before sighing and answering: The old man from Monty Python being clubbed over the head and loaded into the cart of the dead.
Gus winced, knowing Shawn had to really be feeling like shit to be that honest about how he was doing. He felt guilt rise up, he should have found some way to stop Dahmer. It shouldn't have been Shawn getting the needle. It shouldn't have been Shawn getting hurt just a few minutes ago. He hummed back softly: If I could turn back time, if I could find a way.
Shawn let out a sharp sound and sent two small memories back-to-back, both of them from the same early morning movie marathon: "I'd have taken the needle for you if I could've." "I'm glad I was there."
Gus whined; it wasn't fair. They were supposed to be arguing over what actor they looked like and eating junk food and making fools of themselves while helping the police. They weren't supposed to be arguing over which one of them should have been burning for ten minutes straight.
Shawn seemed to understand what he was thinking: An old man reading to his grandson. "Who says that life is fair? Where is that written? Life isn't always fair."
Gus sighed. Life definitely wasn't fair. But he was at least better now than he had been for the last several hours: You and me, and me and you, so happy together.
Shawn snorted and sent a visual of the box art for Brokeback Mountain.
Gus rolled his eyes even though he knew the gesture wasn't visible. He used the back of his tongue on the roof of his mouth to click at Shawn.
Shawn giggled at the familiar sound: Rocky pushing himself back up from being beaten down, ready to fight again.
Gus made a noise of agreement: Don't stop believing, hold onto that feeling.
Shawn sent a competitive ping and hummed back: I get knocked down, but I get up again, ain't ever gonna keep me down.
Gus accepted the challenge: You think I'd crumble? You think I'd lay down and die? Oh no, not I, I will survive.
Shawn had another one ready as soon as Gus was done: Get up, get back on your feet, you're the one they can't beat and you know it.
Gus snorted at Shawn cheating and using the same song from his panic attack hours earlier: Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Shawn disagreed: School's out for the summer.
Gus huffed, he wasn't going to play if Shawn was going to cheat and then claim it wasn't cheating: Quit playing games with my heart.
Shawn made an incredulous noise and sent a disappointed, questioning visual of the Backstreet Boys. Gus knew better, he'd heard Shawn sing along with them on the radio.
He decided to prove it: I want it that way.
Shawn only lasted a few seconds of silence before he answered back: Tell me why.
Gus smirked in victory: Ain't nothin but a heartache.
Shawn did the callback with enthusiasm: Tell me why.
Ain't nothin but a mistake.
Tell me why.
They both finished the refrain together: I never want to hear you say, I want it that way.
Shawn sighed in the ensuing silence. He sent a broadcast: Two friends with bleeding hands embracing.
Gus agreed, it was good to be back together: We are the champions my friend, and we'll keep on fighting till the end.
Shawn huffed in approval before giving Gus a mental nudge: A bed, a lullaby playing in the background.
Gus shook his head frantically, forgetting Shawn couldn't see it. He quickly made several disagreeing sounds. He did not need to have dreams about Dahmer or Rhianna. He could still feel both of their thoughts, muffled by his mental shield and the floor above him. That was plenty more insight into their minds than he'd ever wanted. He wasn't adding to it by experiencing their dreams too.
Shawn sighed in frustration and made a series of familiar-sounding noises, each one accompanied by a visual: Gus. Don't walk sign. Bumble bee. Samara Morgan.
Gus froze, unsure if he should start laughing at Shawn finding a way to make a 'Gus don't be a…' joke or if he should find a way to argue that he wasn't a young girl with ridiculously long hair who drove people mad with her insomnia.
He decided to take the third option, inflecting carefully as he said 'Come on son' as clearly as he could behind his gag.
Shawn answered him, obviously aiming for 'No, you come on son.'
Gus clicked at him and Shawn clicked back. Gus couldn't help but giggle. This sucked, but Shawn made it suck a lot less.
Eventually Shawn won the argument and Gus agreed to try to sleep. His convincing point was a constant visual of sheep jumping over a fence for five minutes straight. It didn't make Gus sleepy, but it did annoy him enough he was willing to try anything to make it stop.
Gus found himself vaguely impressed that Shawn had managed to keep it up that long without being distracted.
He also had to admit that he did need sleep and he couldn't put it off much longer anyway. A combination of constant adrenaline rushes, multiple injuries and less than twelve hours of sleep over three days added up to a deep exhaustion that seemed to sink into his very bones.
Gus closed his eyes and tried to relax, forcing himself to ignore all of his aches and pains as he took several deep breaths.
A heavy comforter was pulled over his shoulders and tucked in tight. The light from the hallway was obscured as his dad leaned over him to place a scratchy kiss on his forehead. "Night kiddo."
Gus had to swallow back a lump in his throat: Thank you for being a friend.
Shawn answered with the feeling of a fist bump before broadcasting the sound of the ocean on the beach. Gus listened and relaxed and quickly drifted off to sleep.
He dreamed of duct tape, trunks and needles. Raised voices, punches and long nights in the hospital. Laughing professors, limp hands and papers dripping red with corrections. Unrecoverable grief, rage and blood on his hands. All of it surrounded by fire that consumed him.
A loud guitar strum woke him up mid-scream and he gasped against the duct tape over his mouth, panicking when he couldn't breathe.
Shawn stopped broadcasting the loud music and sent a visual: Yoda with his eyes closed and hand raised.
Gus gasped through his nose and his pain made itself known once he wasn't focused solely on the ability to breathe. He tried to push it down, but his mind felt like it was being pulled apart as all of the thought sensations around him clambered to be noticed.
He tried to swallow down the nausea that was rising up at the kaleidoscope of sensations and memories that were pressing in on him. He felt like a raw nerve, able to feel everything. He suddenly retched and bile filled his mouth.
He jolted and fought back another wave of panic as he squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the bile back down. He focused entirely on not dying in the worst way he could possibly imagine, choking on his own vomit.
Shawn sent a broadcast in concern: Abraham Lincoln on a stage, "Fourscore and seven minutes ago..."
Gus flinched at the extra sensations and Shawn stopped immediately, whining quietly. The real noise helped ground Gus and he forced himself to focus on the pain in his leg, the taste of bile in his mouth and the acrid smells surrounding him. The nausea began to fade along with his nightmare.
Shawn began to hum softly: Baby come back, you can blame it all on me. I was wrong and I just can't live without you.
The sound continued to help with the panic, but it still took Gus a minute to feel like he was back in control. His whole body shook as he hummed an answer around his panting: There's only us, there's only this. Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.
He was pretty sure that he'd seen Rent with Shawn in the movie theater, so he'd recognize the song.
Shawn sent him a mental nudge with a reminder: His beaded necklace in his pocket. A force field surrounding a brain.
Gus felt like kicking himself for forgetting about his shield after he woke up. He focused on the feeling of the necklace in his pocket and the protection it symbolized, the pressure in his head suddenly backed away and he could think clearly. He let out a slightly manic giggle behind his gag; even in the worst times, Shawn was still protecting him.
Shawn let out a concerned noise with a questioning ping.
Gus sighed and made an affirmative sound as his breathing began to slow. He finally opened his eyes, recovered enough from his sleeping nightmare to face his waking nightmare.
The first thing he noticed was that he could actually see around the basement again. He scanned the walls and found a few small windows set at ground level that were letting in sunlight. Gus gave himself an exhausted mental cheer, they'd survived the night.
Gus turned to look at Shawn. He almost looked worse than he had last time; his eyes bloodshot red, his cheeks swollen and colored with bruises, his neck starting to show dark marks where Dahmer had choked him the day before.
Shawn was scanning Gus back and, judging by the angry red thoughts, he wasn't looking much better.
Gus asked a question: Does anybody really know what time it is?
Shawn shrugged and answered: A clock with the small hand moving from four to seven. A hand held flat, wiggling back and forth.
Gus nodded as he translated the uncertain answer, he'd slept for a few hours and the sun hadn't been up long. He was glad that he'd gotten as much sleep as he had, but he wished it hadn't had to come at the price of Shawn being left alone again. He apologized the best he could: Hold me now, it's hard for me to say I'm sorry.
Shawn made a confused questioning noise.
Gus clarified: In the sound of silence.
Shawn gave him a look: A blonde vampire at the end of his patience, slapping his clueless friend.
Gus huffed a laugh before deciding they needed a distraction. Shawn had dealt with too much quiet and Gus wanted to forget his panic. He had an idea, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to convey it: Take me out to the ball game.
Shawn scrunched his eyebrows in confusion and sent a questioning visual: Kevin Costner standing on an empty baseball diamond.
Gus growled in frustration. Not being able to talk was quickly making its way to the top of his 'getting really tired of this shit' list. And he hadn't been gagged for nearly as long as Shawn.
Shawn's eyes lit up in realization and he sent another visual: An old computer screen with bright blue letters, "shall we play a game?"
Gus nodded and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Shawn shrugged and nodded for him to go ahead. Gus hummed the Jeopardy theme song before pausing and humming his challenge: Going far, getting nowhere, going far, the way you are.
Shawn scoffed and immediately answered with a visual of the Tears for Fears album Saturnine Martial & Lunatic. He added in the full song list with a cheeky ping.
Gus nodded at him to go next and Shawn looked at him in confusion, clearly wondering how he was going to answer. Gus smirked and hummed his idea: One is the loneliest number.
It took Shawn a moment to understand, but once he did, he nodded in agreement and hummed his challenge: Lay your hands, lay your hands on me.
Gus knew the band immediately but had to think for a moment to come up with the first song in the album: Don't mess with doctor dream.
The corners of Shawn's eyes crinkled and he showed a visual scoreboard with a tally under each of their names.
The contest continued, each trying to think of more obscure albums to trip the other one up with. Gus won three rounds in a row, causing Shawn to disqualify anything that came from Broadway. Shawn won one round with a rap song and Gus immediately refused to play more until his friend agreed that the lyrics had to have an actual melody.
It was a much better use of their time than just sitting around feeling angry and sorry for themselves. Even if Gus was losing.
Gus was just debating to himself if Bollywood counted as Broadway when they heard the stairs creaking. They both turned to watch as Dahmer's feet paused on the landing before heading out the front door. Gus frowned and listened quickly to the cracking beakers: Rhianna sleeping, a list of supplies, a brick building with broken windows, a large insulated white cup.
They heard the car engine start and Shawn sent a hopeful ping: A handful of knights running away from a cave and a rabbit.
Gus shook his head: The best part of waking up…
Shawn sent a grumpy ping and Gus agreed. It was fucked up that Dahmer got to go out and get coffee while he was making them just sit in waiting, stuck there until he decided it was time to play again. Gus yanked against his restraints in anger, not caring that it was pointless.
Shawn sent a half-hearted visual of their score board and Gus shook his head, he didn't want to play anymore.
Shawn sighed and nodded in understanding. He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, eyes tracing patterns only he could see. He sent a question, showing a visual of Rhianna.
Gus snorted: Sweet dreams are made of this.
Shawn paused before moving his head back so he could look at Gus: A sleeping person with a TV connected to their head.
Gus shrugged, he had no idea if he could read people's dreams. He didn't really want to; he saw enough of them when he dreamed.
A worry line appeared between Shawn's eyebrows as he looked at Gus. He sent a mental nudge and started humming: A-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh…
Gus wasn't sure he felt like a hum-a-long, but he figured he probably owed it to Shawn to at least play along. It didn't mean he had to play fair though. He started humming the melody of Duke of Earl over Shawn's accompaniment.
Shawn stopped and sent an exasperated visual: An animated warthog and meerkat.
Gus jerked his chin in demonstration and started to hum the accompaniment: Duke, duke, duke, duke of earl…
Shawn tilted his head in consideration and started to hum the melody of The Lion Sleeps Tonight. His eyebrows went up in surprise and he sent two visuals in comparison: Simba and the Duke, Batman and Bruce Wayne.
Gus snorted and couldn't stop a small giggle at Shawn's genuine surprise that the songs used the same basic chords. Shawn snorted back in annoyance. Gus could easily feel the relief in his thoughts.
Gus rolled his eyes and started the a-weema-weh accompaniment again, nodding for Shawn to take the melody first. They took turns on both songs, and mixing them both, before moving on to adding harmonies to different solo hits. Then Shawn started humming The Final Countdown. And Gus retaliated with It's a Small World. It all fell apart from there.
Shawn was humming The Song That Never Ends and Gus was trying to hum over him with Never Gonna Give You Up. Both of them were staring at each other, refusing to blink before the other one did. The floor creaked above them, and they both stopped at the same time with the realization of how loud they'd unintentionally become.
After almost a full minute of silence Shawn sent a broadcast: This is the song that never ends, it keeps going on and on my friend.
Gus glared, telling him without words that it didn't count. Shawn stopped the broadcast with a smug look.
Gus was just about to restart the argument when he heard a car door close. Shawn let out a shaky breath and they both turned to watch the top of the stairs.
The front door opened and a few plastic bags were dropped on the landing before Dahmer's feet moved up to the first floor. They both listened carefully to the quiet, muffled words being exchanged. There was a few minutes of silence and Gus was just starting to think they were safe for a while longer when he heard the stairs creak. Dahmer's feet came back down the steps, and the plastic bags were picked up. He continued down into the basement.
Dahmer looked well rested, his hair was neatly combed, he was wearing jeans with a sports jacket, and he looked practically normal. Even with his bruised and swollen nose. He smiled widely as he saw his captives, "Good morning, psychics."
Shawn answered with a resigned broadcast: A class of students standing at attention, "Good morning, Miss Trunchbull."
Gus agreed with the comparison and braced himself for another day in hell.
The car looked completely normal from the outside, a small silver sedan without any real defining features. Juliet would have never looked at it twice if she hadn't known it was involved in at least one kidnapping.
She was finding it hard to remember that they were looking for three kidnap victims, not just two. Dr. Millers needed their protection just as much as Shawn and Gus, even if Juliet didn't know her personally.
Juliet pulled on her gloves and opened the front door of the car, scanning the interior quickly, looking for any clues that would lead them to their friends. She didn't see anything unusual in the front, just crumpled up old receipts, a spare pair of glasses, and a handful of quarters in one of the cup holders.
Lassiter was leaning into the car on the other side, his flashlight carefully scanning the ground for anything they might have missed on their first glance. He looked up and met her eyes with a small head shake. She sighed and straightened up as he popped the trunk.
Henry cursed and Juliet steeled herself as she walked to the back of the car. She knew to expect blood, the ranger who had called them had told them as much, her breath still caught in her throat when she saw the dark stains. She closed her eyes and forced her emotions back before looking at the scene again with detached, detective eyes.
The blood was mostly in one corner, it was scuffed up and in multiple areas instead of a neat pool, the puddles were relatively small. She was talking before she'd finished fully processing what she saw. "Injuries are localized, the victim was conscious and moving, blood loss isn't life threatening."
Juliet pushed back the memory of the previous two vehicles, her mind unhelpfully adding up all of the blood into one, messy, grim picture.
Lassiter shined his flashlight on the ground, outlining a small smear of blood on the asphalt. "The stolen car was parked right behind. The victim was dragged out, probably to be loaded into the new car."
No one mentioned the police that were combing the surrounding woods for a body. They were going with the assumption that the victim was still alive until they didn't have any other choice.
"Only one victim," Henry added grimly from the side as he took in the size of the trunk. Juliet tried to not think about the implications of where the other two victims were. She shook her head; it didn't mean anything, she shouldn't jump to conclusions.
She carefully looked over the rest of the trunk. There was a faint smear of blood near the middle, looking almost like it had been sponged into the floor. She quickly translated the pattern as blood that had soaked through fabric or a bandage. Multiple injuries then. She mentally imagined where a person would be laying; the blood in the middle could be from anywhere on the torso or arms, the blood pool would have to be from the legs or the head and neck. She really hoped it was the legs that were bleeding.
Lassiter leaned into the trunk, carefully scanning the interior with his flashlight. His body was twisted awkwardly as the flashlight shone back into Juliet's face when he suddenly froze, his eyes on something on the wall under the lid. "O'Hara."
He kept the flashlight pointing where it was as he straightened up and made room for her to come up next to him. She bent down and looked, a smile suddenly growing on her face as she understood what she was looking at. Four bloody lines, crooked and barely touching, clearly made deliberately by the person in the trunk.
"What is it?" Henry snapped desperately.
"It's a message," Lassiter replied as he lifted his cell phone to his ear, "McNab, we need to focus on the residential list, they're in a house."
A/N: Yes, the I Want it That Way was inspired by Brooklyn 99.