When Shawn gets shattered, he withdraws into the mindset of a child. Now, there's only one person who's broken through to him, and Lassiter isn't sure he is up for the job of bringing back the psychic. Not that he has much say in the matter, but still…
This is my first Psych fic, and I'm honestly doing the best I can. A lot of my other stories have been put off, merely because I lost the files after my computer crashed-and I was getting sick of it anyway.
Disclaimer: I don't own the below mentioned characters. Thought I guess I own the rapist…and this isn't really a comforting discovery mind you.
I do, without any hesitation, implore this story to APineappleAwayFromPsycho, because both they and their stories rock.
And they're my betareader! xD Thank you so much, you are wicked awesome!!
Chapter One: Broken Into Bite-Sized Pieces
Shawn Spencer wished Gus was back in town that he wasn't going to get back in four days. That he hadn't left at all in the first place. At least his best friend could have taken him with him!
…but none of that mattered now. All that mattered was that the drunk was pinning him down effectively, his cell phone was halfway across this goddamn alley, and Shawn, for not the first time in his life but sure it felt like, was scared. The man didn't speak, so maybe he wasn't as drunk as Shawn had thought At first, but even in the dark the pseudo-psychic could make out a few important features. He memorized them instantly, and then continued his struggle for freedom.
Sad to say, it didn't quite work as he planned, but when did something ever work to perfection, especially in Shawn Spencer's world?
Detective Lassiter's cell hummed deep in his pocket and let out its shrill call, the detective flipping it out with practiced ease and giving his customary curt response into the receiver.
"Mr. Lassiter? It seems we have a Shawn Spencer here-" the detective lay his head on his keyboard. "And you are the second on his call list, so-" Lassiter felt nothing wrong with interrupting the nervous sounding young woman.
"If I'm second on his call list then I better not be the one being called first."
"Well, the first number is a Burton Guster, and he seems to be out of town…therefore we figured it best if the second person on his cell listing come for him."
…shouldn't his dad be second? Or O'Hara? Why him? Wait, 'come for him?'
"Where is he?" he kept his voice low and curt, then gnashed his teeth together out of pure habit at the response. Seriously, if Spencer was drunk in a bar, Lassiter was going to pick him up-and with a police car. And read him his rights.
"At Santa Barbra hospital. He was brought in about an hour ago-severe cuts and broken bones." Lassiter sat up at this, his teeth parting and his lips opening up slightly.
At the sound of his voice the young woman continued her hurried explanation, while Lassiter shut down his computer and locked his papers he was working on into various drawers. He had just got his jacket slung over his shoulder when the woman's voice took a turn.
"-and despite all they've tried to do, the damage to him both psychically and mentally might have caused Mr. Spencer to-"
"Just what happened to him?"
There was a pause, and the woman confirmed the detective's suspicions. "…He was raped, we believe." The conversation ended shortly thereafter.
He uttered a low growl away from the phone as he tuned the engine in his car.
A half an hour or so later, when Lassiter entered the psychic's room, he stopped dead in the doorway, his gaze resting on Shawn's form.
"That's why we called someone at the very top of his list, the doctors believed it might be best for him to wake up and be near someone he was close to." This nurse obviously had taken a chance and reached out on a limb, she did not know their relationship, if it was said they had one at best. Or worst.
Lassiter was vaguely aware the apparently nervous girl was still talking, stuttering it could be said, she might not have been sure how to continue the speech now that the head detective had taken the younger man's still figure into account on the white bed in the sterile smelling room.
Despite the woman coming and pushing a chair behind his legs, so close they touched it faintly, he could not for the life of him move his gaze anywhere but Spencer's form. Bandages, some tinting red as if to mock, and bruises littered anywhere they could, Lassiter seeing bruises in place he didn't think could bruise until now. The kid's arm was in a sling, some minor cuts were left unattended without wrappings, but looked shiny and hinted that they had gotten taken care of regardless. The nurse left, showing herself the way out and saying she would see what she could do about certain visiting hours ending.
Like hell he would leave this place anytime soon.
He felt his body lower automatically into the chair, half afraid that if he stood he might collapse into it anyway. Though he was pleased with himself his leg hadn't quite given out, despite the current state his stomach was in.
Notwithstanding the brunette's current silence, Lassiter could not stop himself from but asking a small question. "Just what the hell did you go through back there, Spencer?" He whispered. The detective was all for justice, but he decided dimly that blind revenge was calling him in this certain case, and he would answer.
Later. Now he was much too tired, as if seeing the lifeless boy before him was enough to drain him as well of all major bodily functions. He would kill the bastard who did this to Shawn later. But not too much later.
'I'll just stay until he wakes up. Then I'll leave. I promise.' He prompted to himself, eyes never leaving the much paler than usual face of Shawn all throughout this.
What was it the nurse had said? 'Someone he was close to…' Lassiter dropped his face in his hands, sighing sadly. The thing in the back of his mind surfaced eagerly once again, a question he could not answer for the life of him.
Why, out of all the people Shawn knew, did he put Carlton Lassiter so close to the top of that list?