The car ride to the gas station felt as awkward as expected. Juliet gripped the wheel, Henry beside her drumming the armrest with anxious fingers. Behind them, Shawn and Gus cracked jokes and dug into snacks.

"Gus, don't be the do do do, do do do, do do do, do do do do do do in an otherwise lyrically genius song."

"Shawn, for the last time, mouth is alive, juices like wine is not a lyrical masterpiece"

Shawn snorted and snatched the bag of chips out of Gus's hands. "Agree to disagree, buddy."

Normally, Juliet would have rolled her eyes, annoyed at their constant banter. They never seemed to grasp that detective work was serious—lives were at stake after all. But beneath the jokes, their nervous energy was palpable. The duo were clearly worried and simply distracting themselves.

Juliet didn't understand why they were concerned, but even amongst their humor the tension was palpable. She was confident that Rollins wouldn't return to the station. He wasn't an idiot and had to know they had eyes there. But their worry seeped into her and with every mile closer to the gas station, the knot tightened in her stomach.

She had no real idea of what they were even going to do at the gas station because she still couldn't grasp how Shawn pulled off his so-called 'abilities'. It was her fault of course. She'd said she didn't want to know, and Shawn had agreed not to explain when he'd walked out her door and despite what he'd lied about he had always kept his promises. She was sure some of it was hyper observation, but there had to be something more, something about how he accessed past memories. She was tempted to break and just ask him outright to explain, but pride, and a fear that his explanation would pull him back into her life, reopening wounds she wasn't ready to face, held her back.

By the time they pulled up, Shawn was practically bouncing in the backseat, fueled by snacks and adrenaline. Juliet's stomach churned with anxiety.

She turned off the car, cutting the 80's music Shawn had insisted she play for the trip. The jangling of wind chimes sounded. She swallowed hard, recalling the eerie tone in Shawn's voice when he'd slipped that clue into his call.

Gus and Henry got out of the car and it took Juliet a moment to realize that Shawn was frozen in the backseat. His eyes met hers in the mirror and she found her gaze caught by his.

"Rollins has plenty of people hunting for him," she said after a moment's silence. "We will find him eventually."

His eyes looked tired—more than tired, exhausted. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed behind his bouncing energy that he had dark circles around his eyes and a pure weariness in the depths of his gaze. Then again, she'd been avoiding looking at him closely for reasons she wasn't ready to face.

Shawn paused a moment before replying quietly. "But will we catch him before he hurts—or kills—someone else?"

Juliet didn't say anything. He was right, after all.

Shawn climbed out of Juliet's car and took in the run-down building. It didn't look like the gas pump had been in service in years. The price of gas on the pump hadn't been that low in ten years, a fact that he would have noticed on his first visit had he not been shot at the time.

A yellowed sign with three red letters spelling GAS swung slightly in the wind, and beside it a hanging collection of metal spanners and bolts dangled, creating jangling sounds that made the back of his neck prickle.

Slowly, Shawn looked down at his hands. They trembled in front of him, streaks of blood both dry and fresh smeared over them. Fear ripped through him and images exploded behind his eyes. Running through a forest, zig zagging and double backing to avoid another bullet. Falling against a tree trunk, hoping it was large enough to hide him. Biting down on the collar of his own jacket to prevent a cry of pain as he hid. Feeling the fade to blackness as—

"Are you getting something?" Juliet's voice made him jump, and he looked up to see her puzzled expression, the forest disappearing as fast as it had invaded his mind.

"What?" he managed to croak out.

Juliet let out a self-conscious laugh. "I guess I don't know what to call it. I mean I know they aren't visions, but I also know you see things others don't."

"No." A pounding had started in his head and his shoulder—the left one with the scar—had begun to ache. "I'm not getting anything on Rollins."

Juliet nodded towards the glass door of the gas station. "We should go in, see if you can get anything on where Rollins could have gone from in there."

Shawn looked back down at his hands. They were clean. Well, of blood at least. There was some Dorito dust from the chips he'd eaten on the drive but not a drop of blood was in sight.

When he glanced back up he could see two figures moving inside the building and he had to assume it was his dad and Gus despite not being able to make out their features through the dirty glass. He walked towards the door, his stomach roiling as a voice in his head (the smart one that he generally ignored) screamed at him to turn around and forget this whole idea.

Juliet trailed behind him and, conscious that he didn't want to disappoint her, Shawn pushed through his nerves and through the doorway.

The moment he entered the ache in his shoulder flared to white hot pain. Clutching it, he staggered forward then sank to his knees on the oil stained floor. As the pain radiated down his arm, the present blurred at the edges, and before he could stop it he was back in the forest, zigzagging through the trees, Longmore close behind.

"Shawn!"

Vaguely he heard Juliet cry out, but her voice sounded like a far-off echo. He closed his eyes tighter and the forest was replaced by bright lights dancing in front of him and spinning in dizzy circles.

A hand reached out and touched his right shoulder. He flinched instinctively. Shawn knew that the gentle touch was only Juliet, but the lights shifted to an image of Rollins shoving the gun under his jaw and demanding he imagine a bullet smashing through his brain. He could even feel the cold press of metal against his skin, forcing his head upwards.

"Shawn." His dad's voice broke through the screaming pain. "Tell us what you see."

"Nothing. Everything." He hissed and pressed his free hand into the concrete ground, trying to place himself in reality. He wasn't kidnapped. He wasn't really shot. There wasn't a gun to his head. "Crap, it hurts," he choked out, feeling his eyes burn.

Shawn felt his dad's arm wrap around his shoulders. "I know, son. Push past what you feel. What do you see?"

How many hats, son. What do you see?

"What's going on? What's happening?" Juliet sounded frightened, and Shawn wanted to reassure her, tell her not to worry, but all he could do was grit his teeth and endure. He shook his head, eyes closed tight. Rollins disappeared and he saw nothing but a black abyss.

"One sense at a time, Shawn." Gus spoke then and Shawn could hear a break in his voice as he tried to hold it together. "Do you smell anything?"

Shawn managed a weak laugh. "I don't have a super sniffer, buddy." But he breathed in deep anyway, filling his lungs. "Gas. Oil. Metal." He shuddered before saying the next one. "Blood." The combination was an odd, sickly scent that made his stomach turn.

"Good," Henry said, sounding more encouraging than he'd ever done when Shawn was a kid. "What else?"

Shawn wrinkled his nose. "Sweat. My trusty Axe body spray has sadly not held out."

"Now what do you hear?" Henry kept his arm tight around him and Shawn relaxed a little more. He released his hand from the ground and let himself lean back into his father as he took several deep breaths.

"Ticking. A cooling car?" Another breath. "Voices. Arguing." Rollins and Longmore. And someone else?

"Take it slow. Find a moment in time. What do you see, son?"

The pain had dulled. Not much, but enough that he could attempt to look around. Of course, his version of 'looking' didn't require opening his eyes. He concentrated, trying to take control of the fractured memories, jolting through them until his mind was back in the doorway, begging Rollins to call the SBPD and to ask for Detective Lassiter.

"A greasy Severus Snape," he answered his father. Shawn looked past Rollins standing in the doorway. His breath hitched. Something wasn't right. He pushed deeper into the memory, past the pain and fear. "There are two different sized boots."

"What does that mean?" Juliet's voice was tight. She hadn't wanted to know how his abilities worked but Shawn knew he'd just thrown her in the deep end of it.

"One pair is the same size as Rollins'." Shawn clutched his shoulder tighter as the pain began to flare again. It meant something. It had to. "The other…" He tried to focus his vision. Then it hit him. "They are too big."

"Are they MacQuarrie's?" his father suggested.

"Who?" His head felt fuzzy now. So did his mouth. He was unquenchably thirsty, as if he'd been shot, kidnapped, escaped through a forest, and passed out—twice—without a drop to drink.

"Longmore," was the correction.

That's right. Longmore was a fake name. "No. Too big," Shawn said again. "Third—" He broke off with a shudder, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he tried to stay conscious. He struggled to get the words out as the pounding in his head competed with his shoulder, making his ears ring. "There's a third…" He slumped completely limp against his dad, vaguely conscious that this was not the heroic case-solving experience he had wanted for his first case back with Jules.

"There was a third person involved." Gus jumped in with his role as Shawn's translator. "But who?"