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musicalluna) wrote2010-10-20 09:42 pm
002 Dream - Blood in the Water (And Everywhere Else, Too)
Fandom: Psych
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Shawn, Lassiter, Juliet
Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: Naughty Language (One F-Word)
Complete: Yes
Summary: Dreams can hurt sometimes. And not just mentally.
A/N:This is a sequel-type thing to my fic Look Out. The fic Watch Dog follows this one.
Disclaimer: As much as I love making these guys bleed, I am sadly not their owner.
The apartment was still dark and quiet when Lassiter woke.
He slapped the alarm off, grimacing into the dark bedroom. The sleep had been plenty sufficient, though not enough to wipe away the the emotional weariness. It didn't matter if he slept for two hours or eight; it was impossible to feel rested when forced to hide out in a safe house. Disappearing was difficult. It was even harder when one of the party had been through as much as Spencer had.
Rubbing a hand over his face, Lassiter pushed out of the bed, wincing as his bad knee resisted having his weight on it again. Grabbing his holster, he limped the few steps to the door, his walk evening out as he worked the stiffness out of the joint.
The faint blue flicker of the television was the first movement he saw as he padded down the hallway to the front room, slipping his holster onto his shoulders.
O'Hara was sitting at the end of the couch, rather than in the recliner next to it where he'd left her. She glanced back in time to see him arrive in the doorway.
She tipped her head. “Carlton.”
He nodded back, taking in the changes to the scene. Spencer's head lay in O'Hara's lap and she had her fingers in the hair along the side of his head, moving in lazy circulars. The psychic was pale, but no worse than he had been eight hours ago. He looked like a child, curled up on his side with one hand grasping loosely at O'Hara's pant-leg.
A surge of anger washed over Lassiter, not for the first time. Spencer might be a pain in the ass, but he was good at what he did and Lassiter would be damned if some two-bit thug thought he could threaten the psychic without retribution.
He had already let Spencer down once; it wouldn't happen again.
“He was really adverse to the idea of sleeping,” O'Hara said, her voice pitched low as she looked down at the sleeping man, “so I didn't try to put him in a bed.”
Lassiter nodded, moving forward to sit in the blue-gray recliner she had vacated. “You did good, O'Hara.”
They sat in silence for several long minutes, looking at the TV, but watching Shawn.
“He's terrified,” Juliet finally murmured and Lassiter's eyes immediately sought out something else when he saw the look on her face.
“He has good reason to be,” he muttered bitterly.
“I want to help him, but I don't know how,” Juliet whispered.
Lassiter shifted uncomfortably and then said in a low, gruff voice, “When this is all over, he'll bounce back, O'Hara. He's a resilient little bastard.”
Juliet let out a small, brittle sounding laugh, but she was smiling. Her fingers carded gently through the hair around Spencer's ear and Lassiter had to look away again.
She sighed. “I should go to bed.”
“Yes.”
She looked down at Spencer again, drew her fingers through his hair one last time, and then very carefully began maneuvering out from under him. It took her almost ten minutes of infinitesimal movements and careful rearranging to slip off of the couch and replace her lap with a pillow. Spencer shifted and mumbled incoherently, his eyelashes even fluttering once, but when she finished, he slept on.
The entire thing seemed excessive, but Lassiter knew as well as she did how desperately Spencer needed the rest and if he woke up again, it would be hell trying to coax him back down.
Juliet watched him for another second and then said, “If he does wake up, he's going to need another pain pill. It's been hours since he had the last one.”
Lassiter nodded. “I can handle it, O'Hara. Go.”
She sighed again, glanced at Spencer's face, and headed for the back of the apartment. A few minutes later he heard the faint sound of the shower.
Lassiter dug his fingers into the corner of his eye sockets and let out a long breath. He needed coffee.
Sparing a glance to make sure that Spencer was still sleeping soundly, he got to his feet and moved into the kitchen, pulling the coffee pot out and pouring the last grounds from their second bag of coffee into the filter. Mere minutes later he was breathing in the rich aroma of the brew.
He was watching the little red indicator light on the front of the machine impatiently when a noise from the living room caught his attention. He dropped the spoon on the counter and strode out into it, eyes first checking the doors and windows before finally dropping to the sofa.
It was Spencer.
He was twisting on the couch, sweat already soaked through the back and underarms of his t-shirt and beading on his forehead, which was riddled with creases. He was making a quiet noises of distress, his breathing harsh.
“Spencer,” Lassiter said sharply, reaching for his shoulder.
And that was when Shawn screamed.
Startled, Lassiter jerked forward, his fingers brushing against Shawn's shoulder. “Carlton?!” Juliet yelled.
Shawn launched himself off of the couch, clearly in “flight” mode, and slammed into the coffee table. “Jesus!” Lassiter exclaimed. Shawn cried out as his momentum hurled him over the table. There was a loud thud as he hit the floor, face-first.
“Shawn?!” Juliet yelled and her voice was much closer this time. Shawn's intimate encounter with the floor didn't seem to faze him, however, and he scrambled onto his hands and knees, fleeing into the farthest corner he could find.
“Spencer!” Lassiter barked, “It's okay, it's just me and O'Hara!”
“Oh my god,” Juliet said when Shawn turned, pressing his back into the corner, arms up defensively. His eyes were wide, tears gathered in the corners as an automatic reaction to the blow and below that his nose was rapidly bruising, drenching his mouth and chin with blood. She quickly overrode her shock and held out her hands submissively as she crept a little closer, inching toward the ground to try and minimize her potential appearance as a threat. “Shawn,” she said calmly, “It's just me and Carlton. Everything is fine. You're safe.”
Shawn's eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them and then swept frenetically around the room several times, checking for himself.
“Fuck,” he finally breathed, his voice shaking and brittle. His arms stayed where they were, though they started quivering violently.
“It's okay,” Juliet repeated soothingly. She moved a little closer now that Shawn seemed to have come back to himself, though she kept her hands out where he could see them. “You're going to hyperventilate, Shawn, take a deep breath.”
It took a moment, but he did as she asked. He shook like he'd been set down on top of a washing machine, the adrenaline slowly starting to fade from his system. The pallor of his face had gone from pale to almost transparent, reminding Lassiter, eerily enough, of a sheet of tissue paper. The numbing effect of the adrenaline was wearing off as well, pain re-etching its lines in his face.
“Come on, Shawn,” Juliet said softly. “We need to get you patched up.” She took his hand and his fingers immediately tightened around hers.
“I think I broke my nose,” he croaked.
Juliet bit her lip, trying and failing to stifle a smile. “Yeah, I think you might have.”
“You scared the shit out of me, Spencer,” Lassiter muttered, annoyed.
“I scared you?” Shawn burst into slightly hysterical sounding laughter, punctuated by small noises of pain as Juliet helped him hobble over to the sofa.
“All right,” Juliet said. “Carlton, would you mind getting started while I...” She gestured with her head, her cheeks turning pink.
For a split-second Lassiter was confused and then he realized abruptly that her hair was wet and the only thing she was wearing was a very snugly wrapped towel.
His eyes widened and he started babbling. “Oh, yeah, sure, I can— Sure, it's just first aid, we'll be fine.”
Juliet nodded and brushed a hand across Shawn's shoulder. “Everything's fine,” she assured him. He flashed her a weak imitation of a smile in return.
The first aid kit had been slung onto the kitchen bar on their arrival and neither of them had bothered moving it. Lassiter retrieved it from there as O'Hara disappeared down the hallway and set it on the coffee table; it had been pushed askew, but otherwise remained unmarred from its battle with Spencer's shins. The man in question was hunched over on the couch with his fingers buried in his hair. Lassiter grabbed a towel from the kitchen and wet it with hot water before sitting down on the couch beside him. He deposited a pill from the bottle on the table into his palm.
“Take this; it's a painkiller.”
Shawn didn't have to be asked twice. He swallowed it down dry, grimacing at the unpleasant bitterness of it. Lassiter handed the wet towel over to him.
“Clean up your face,” he directed.
Shawn grimaced in displeasure, but began wiping gingerly at his mouth and the drying blood there.
“Does anything other than your face hurt?”
He got a wry look out of the corner of Shawn's eye in response. “Is 'everything' an option?”
Lassiter sighed. “Is there anything I might be able to fix?”
Shawn shook his head, looking thoroughly unhappy. “No.”
They were quiet for a moment as Shawn continued cleaning his face. When it looked like he had taken care of the majority of it, Lassiter said, “All right, let me see.”
Reluctantly, Shawn pulled the cloth away from his swollen nose. He reached up to touch it with his thumb and Shawn immediately recoiled. “No, no no, Lassie, please— Don't touch it, don't touch it!”
Lassiter frowned, his lip curling in distaste at having to do this. “Spencer, we need to know if it's broken.”
“Let's just—pretend we know it is!” Shawn pled.
“If it is broken, we need to reset it.”
Shawn let out a low whine. How the hell did he even make noises like that? And did he have to do it? This was bad enough without him sounding like an abused puppy.
“Just let me check it. It will take two seconds.”
He looked anything but convinced, but, slowly, his hands came down, granting Lassiter access.
“Now just hold still,” Lassiter ordered. He put his hands on either side of Shawn's face and then, very carefully, brushed his thumb against the bridge of Shawn's nose, checking for any obvious breaks.
“Enhoh god,” Shawn whimpered, tears gathering instantly in the corners of his eyes. He breathed out a curse and another throaty whimper and Lassiter released him.
“It doesn't feel like it's broken,” he said, watching as Shawn struggled to swallow the pain and beat it back down to a tolerable level.
“Maybe not to you,” he panted, the words grit out between his teeth in a whine.
Lassiter was lifting the towel to go at the remaining blood on Shawn's face when Juliet returned. “Oh, thank God.” He stood, gesturing for her to take his spot. “I don't think it's broken, just seriously bruised.”
“That's good,” Juliet said.
Shawn huffed out a wet, slightly hysterical laugh.
Juliet's pleased expression immediately dissolved and she sat down, taking the cloth. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly.
God, Spencer had an extensive repertoire of pained whimpers.
“It hurts,” he said and Lassiter suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. There was a distinctly choked quality to Spencer's voice that he knew he shouldn't be party to hearing. “Everything hurts.”
"Well, maybe it will help if you're distracted from the pain," she said, putting her hand to his jaw as she began dabbing at the remaining blood flecked on his skin.
He snorted, but immediately regretted it, a hand flying up to cover his nose as he stifled a high-pitched whimper. "Ow. Jules, don't make me laugh," he pled.
She frowned. "Why would that make you laugh?"
"Because if this were a movie distraction would equal kissing. And I'm pretty sure bumping noses right now would not be pleasant."
Juliet rolled her eyes, but she was smiling slightly.
"Damn. I guess we'll just have to think of something else then."
Lassiter groaned. “God, don't even start. I don't want to have to shoot you both, but I will.”
Shawn dissolved into weak laughter, going back and forth between grimacing and chuckling.
It wasn't what it should be, but it was better.
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(You haaave to write more of them, I'm begging you C: )
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The beginning is just so sweet and adorable and sad. Shawn seems like such a little kid here which makes it that much sweeter.
Shawn's little freakout was, ugh, I don't know XD I kind of have a thing for nightmare freakouts, weird as it may be. Any sort of mental snaps are wonderful, though, and it's the same reason I love that part in the next one when he finally admits why he's looking out the window .3.
Nosebreak!whump, need I say more? I love whump in all of its many facets.
The ending was so adorable, and still highly in character despite everything C: A little glimpse of normality in this twisty world'd fic.
Plus, the entire thing is just so beautifully written. I love your writing so much lD I've read all your fics multiple times, over at PF.com. I was searching for fellow Shules-ers on here, to find a group I could join or something, when I stumbled upon this and got sucked in yet again~
But I'd love to find out more about what happened before this, to make Shawn act so out of character for him. I'm fascinated with this little world of yours :)