by pebble/scifipony
Fandom: Psych
Characters: Shawn Spencer, Carlton Lassiter, Juliet O'Hara
Words: 967
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Warnings: Mentions of blood
Author's Notes: Originally posted to tumblr in July 2020. Previously archived on FFN & SqWA.
Written for the Bad Things Happen Bingo challenge. Prompt: "Bloodstained clothes" was requested by an anon user on tumblr.
Sometimes Shawn really hated his brain. He'd said something to Gus once, during the speed dating investigation, about it being both a gift and a curse. Despite his joking tone at the time, there was more than a little truth to that.
The problem wasn't only that he noticed and remembered everything — although that could be annoying enough — but also the fact that his brain seemed to have a mind of its own when it came to selecting which memories become more prominent than others. More easily accessible. For instance, hearing a word pronounced a dozen different ways by a dozen different people, and then failing to pick the correct version when he needed it. And, if he really tried, he knew he'd easily be able to recall the exact shade of Yin's eyes, but it was the terrifying emptiness in them as he threatened Gus's life that stuck in the forefront of Shawn's mind for years afterward.
But the prime example of this was the night he walked into Santa Barbara General's emergency room, his phone still clutched in one hand, keys in the other.
If he really thought about it, he was sure he could recall what the nurse at the desk looked like. He most likely also noticed how many people were in the waiting room, what they were wearing, and the name of the kid whose mother had to keep yelling for them to settle down. He probably also noticed what suit Lassiter was wearing when he greeted him at the door. The tie he was wearing, the brand of shoes on his feet.
Shawn knows his brain would have automatically catalogued all of that on sight. But the thing that immediately seared itself onto his memory and came back to haunt him at night when he closed his eyes, was the bright red stain on Lassiter's normally pristine suit.
The head detective spoke to him for a minute, but Shawn never quite knew what he said. He was too focused on that stain and all the horrible implications. At some point, Lassiter must have realized he wasn't getting through, because he eventually stopped talking and guided them both over to the chairs.
"It was a setup," Lassiter explained, probably not for the first time. His gruff tone was oddly comforting, if only for the sense of normalcy it provided. "They were waiting in ambush when we got there. Backup didn't arrive before… We got them, though. Those worthless lowlifes will rot in prison where they belong."
Shawn nodded numbly. He was sure that information would mean something to him later. But right now the only thing that mattered — the only thing his brain seemed willing to process — was that awful crimson stain.
They sat in those uncomfortable chairs for hours as they waited. With nothing to keep his brain occupied while his mind ran in a panicked loop, Shawn peripherally noted the number and color of chairs, which members of the passing hospital staff were new, and how many dogs that one man had waiting for him at home. But the only thing in the room he seemed capable of focusing on was the red on grey pattern in front of him.
At some point, the doctor showed up to give them an update. Lassiter had to do all the talking as Shawn waited impatiently for directions to the correct recovery room.
The two men almost plowed down several nurses as they moved in unison down the halls — Lassiter taking the lead since he'd actually been paying attention when the doctor gave them the room number.
And then, finally, finally they arrived at their destination.
The room was that oddly neutral color scheme that hospitals seem obsessed with. The curtains were open, but the blinds were pulled shut against the city night outside. The room held two chairs for visitors, both an ugly green that would fit in well at his dad's house. A tumblr of water sat on the bedside table with four ice cubes floating in it.
But once again, Shawn found only one detail about the room standing out to him. And that was the tired blue eyes staring back as they entered.
They were across the room in a flash. Her weak smile greeted them both as they took up guard on either side of the bed.
Her words of reassurance fell on deaf ears as they both simply embraced the relief of her even being able to speak. Lassiter vanished at some point — probably waving a badge at some poor doctor in an attempt to access her medical charts. But Shawn found himself glued to his spot, leaning slightly on the bed for support. His hand intertwined with hers and held tight, more for his own peace of mind than hers. And she seemed to instinctively know that as she squeezed it comfortingly.
When she fell asleep an uncertain amount of time later, he was still camped out beside her and clinging to that warm hand, with the steady pulse beating beneath his fingers.
His own eyelids were drooping when Lassiter finally returned. After muttering something about bureaucratic red tape, the detective dropped tiredly into a chair and settled in to watch over his sleeping partner.
Shawn found his attention once more locked on the bloodstained suit. His chest tightened again, but the warm hand kept him anchored, preventing his mind from spiraling back down that endless tunnel of what-if scenarios.
Because in the end, there was only one detail out of everything his brain picked up that night which truly mattered — the one that helped chase away those haunting images at night.
And he didn't need a perfect memory to hold onto that one. He wasn't planning on letting her out of his sight anytime soon.
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