by pebble/scifipony
Fandom: Psych
Characters: Shawn Spencer, Burton Guster, Juliet O'Hara, Carlton Lassiter, Buzz McNabb
Tags: AU, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Team As Family, Fluff
Story Warnings: Contains a character with a recent disability, and several discussions around that. Also contains many discussions and explorations into the topic of mental health and trauma.
Chapter Warnings: None
Words: 1,815
Author's Notes: This story starts around the end of Season 4, but everything goes completely AU after the season 3 episode "Lassie Did A Bad, Bad Thing". This chapter is based off an amazing prompt from @write-it-motherfuckers on tumblr. You can find the original prompt here.
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The alarm clock buzzed obnoxiously in his ear. Groaning, Shawn squeezed his eyes tighter shut and hoped that, if he ignored it, maybe it would go away. Or spontaneously combust. He was good with either option.
Instead, the alarm clicked off and a sleepy “Good morning” drifted over from the other side of the bed.
He moaned again. He was so not ready for it to be morning.
Turning over to face the window, he could feel the warmth of the sun against his eyelids. It was oddly soothing. Snuggling deeper into the pillow, he tried to cling to that happy, sleepy feeling.
On his other side, he could hear an amused laugh. “C'mon, we have to wake up at some point.”
Shawn smiled. He loved her morning voice — gentle, and still a bit raspy from sleep. “That's what weekends are supposed to be for,” he argued back, his own voice muffled from the pillow he was burrowing into. “Sleep late, eat junk food, watch cartoons.”
“I think you're a few decades too old for that to still be your Saturday schedule.”
“One is never too old for Phineas and Ferb, Jules,” he informed her sagely.
She laughed again, rustling fabric as she slipped out from under the covers. The bed shifted as her weight lifted off the mattress. He immediately missed the warmth against his back.
“Well,” Juliet said, the scrape of a drawer accompanying her words, “I have to be at work in an hour, so I'll have to take a rain check on those cartoons.”
He shifted slightly, head emerging from his cocoon enough to make his complaints heard loud and clear. “I can't believe Lassie's making you work another weekend in a row. It feels like we haven’t had a day to ourselves since the honeymoon. What's the point in having your best friend as your boss if you can't even cash in on that nihilism once in awhile?”
“Nepotism,” she corrected automatically. “And Carlton is still new to the job; he's trying to make a good impression on the commissioner. So, if I can help out by taking a few extra shifts, it's the least I can do. He'll ease up after things settle down a bit around the department.”
Deflating back into his plushy nest, Shawn's response was lost to the depths of the pillow and blanket. It didn't matter, really. As much as he would love to finally have a full weekend with his wife, he could understand why it was so important for Lassiter to remove the 'interim' from his title. After everything that had happened this past year, the whole department could use some stability. They all could, for that matter.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn't even notice the shower shutting off until the bathroom door swung open and he could smell the sharp tang of wet hair and strawberry shampoo. A moment later, an arm snaked over him, the delicate fingers threading into his hair.
“You planning on staying there all day?” she asked teasingly.
Pushing his unwelcome reminiscing aside, he finally rolled over to face her, a grin lighting up his face. “Well,” he teased back, “I suppose I could be bribed out with the proper incentive.”
“Oh, really? And what would that be?”
“Pineapple pancakes,” he replied without hesitation. “Preferably with bacon on the side, but I'm willing to negotiate.”
Juliet laughed. “Wait until Monday to ask, and you've got a deal. Carlton promised the whole day off in exchange for working these extra shifts.” Her service weapon clinked against the bedside table as she picked it up, strapping it to her belt. “Alright, I'll see you tonight. Don't forget the landscaper is coming this afternoon — you know how edgy Remington gets around strangers.”
He knew what she really meant — Remington wasn't the one who had had a mild panic attack when the electrician showed up unexpectedly last week — and he genuinely didn't know whether to be touched or annoyed at her tactfulness.
“Have a good day at work, Sweetheart,” he said, sending a farewell wave in her general direction. “Don't let Chief Lassie's newfound power go to his head; someone has to keep him in line.”
She leaned in for a kiss and he happily returned it, making it last a few seconds longer than she'd probably intended. When they finally pulled away from each other, she lingered a few moments — her strawberry and gunmetal scent hovering within an arm's reach of him. He could almost feel the downward shift in mood as she stared at him. Then her fingers were suddenly ghosting over his face, tracing the scar with a gentleness that stopped being necessary months ago.
The content smile faded from his lips. He might not be truly psychic, but he could still read her thoughts so easily.
A dozen different responses were on the tip of his tongue. Everything from lighthearted teasing to gentle reassurances. But none of them came out. What would be the point? She hadn't heard them the first few hundred times they were uttered; she wouldn't hear them now. She wouldn't be able to hear them until she was ready to let go of something she shouldn't be carrying in the first place. He didn’t blame her for what happened, but she would always blame herself.
The bed creaked as Juliet stood back up. For once, he was glad that he couldn’t see her face, or the guilt that was sure to be there.
“See you tonight,” she called over her shoulder, on the way to the front door. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” he called back, moments before the door clicked shut.
Shawn leaned back against the headboard with a sigh. This was his least favorite part of the morning. Being left in the dark and silence, no longer able to distract himself from his thoughts. It was one of the reasons he craved activity more now than he ever did before.
One hand moved almost unconsciously to toy with the smooth silver band around his finger. He used to wish more than anything that he could go back and do things differently on that day. Any small change that might be able to prevent his entire world from shifting on its axis. Everything changed that day — and continued to change every day since. His life right now was not at all what he would have imagined it being, if anyone had asked him a year ago.
But that didn’t necessarily make this new reality a terrible one. There were certain parts he would give anything to change… or, maybe he wouldn’t? It was hard to say now. With time, he’d learned how to reshape his perception so that it fit with this version of his life. He’d mentally redefined what ‘normal’ felt like, and it felt good. Not better than before, but still good.
A gentle thumping of padded feet against carpet signalled that he was about to have company. The bedroom door was pushed the rest of the way open and a large weight settled itself on the empty half of the bed. Warm fur pushed against his hand.
“Hey, good morning, buddy,” Shawn greeted, ruffling Remington’s ears. “Thought you’d be begging for breakfast a lot earlier than this. You didn’t want to get up today, either, did you?”
The dog whined softly and Shawn could hear his tail swishing on the bed, begging him to come play. This was what Shawn appreciated so much about his furry buddy. Remington seemed to always know when he needed a distraction.
He supposed they could always take a walk down to the pier. He loved the ocean, even now when his enjoyment of it was restricted to listening to the waves instead of watching them. Maybe they could fit in a visit to the pier before the landscaper arrived. If nothing else, the long walk would help ease some of the tension in his leg; the muscles always ached badly after too many days without activity.
“You feel like a walk on the beach today?” An excited bark answered his question and he laughed. “Okay, but first we’re going to stop off for some pancakes. Go get your leash.”
The dog sprang off the bed, his paws pounding down the hallway to retrieve his leash. Shawn smiled and finally pushed back his covers to get up. His hand reached out to snag the cane that always rested beside the bed.
It didn’t take him long to change clothes, since Juliet always set them out for him the night before. Within a few minutes, he was snatching up his house keys and phone on his way out of the room. Bare feet shuffled carefully over carpet as he navigated his way out of the room and down the hall. Carpet turned to linoleum, letting him know he’d reached the kitchen. A quick bark from Remington warned him of the sneakers he’d accidentally left out the night before. He managed to reach the fridge without incident — his ongoing running streak of most days without maiming himself remained intact.
Remington nosed his hand and he dutifully opened it, palm upward, so the dog could deposit his leash on it.
“Alright,” Shawn said, setting the leash on the counter, “I promise we’ll leave in a minute. Let me at least grab something to drink first.”
He pulled open the fridge door and grabbed for the milk bottle… only to come up empty. Swallowing his frustration, he waved his hand carefully back and forth until he found the elusive drink.
The house phone rang just as he was closing the fridge door. Keeping a hold of the milk with one hand, he used the other to reach for the handset. He assumed it was Juliet calling about forgetting her wallet, or something similar.
“Hey, what's up?” he asked into the phone, heading for the cabinet full of glasses.
The voice on the other end of the phone was definitely not Juliet. In fact, it was probably the last voice he would have expected to be hearing. Especially today, of all days.
“Hi? Uh, Shawn? Look, I know it's been… well, a while. And I understand if you hang up right now, but please hear me out. There's something I need to get off my chest — something I should have told you a year ago.”
Shawn dropped the milk bottle, not caring where it landed. His hand grabbed the counter for support, the other hand clenching the phone in a death grip. Beside him, Remington whimpered at his obvious distress.
He should hang up. He should really hang up right now. Nothing good could come from this conversation.
But he didn't hang up. Instead, he cleared his throat and uttered a name he hadn't said aloud in far too long.
“Gus?”
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