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He feels as if he might break.
It's been the longest, worst day of his life, and he just wants it to be over, but of course it can't be. Getting shot isn't enough. It hasn't earned him the longest sleep of his life or a marathon of romantic comedies because fuck anything with guns or explosions for the next forever of his life. He doesn't want it right now. He doesn't want anything except to relax and pretend the last two days didn't happen.
Getting injured hasn't earned him anything because they get him out of the hospital, stitched up, and ready to go out and live for however long that's going to last and Gus brought Abigail. There are plenty of 'Oh my god's and 'are you okay's and it isn't what he wants to hear. She's scared. Actually scared that he's going to do something someday to get himself killed, and guess what, he is too. And she's scaring him because when he looks at her, he realizes that it isn't fair to her. Little kindergarten teacher Abigail isn't ready to be told that her boyfriend has been shot and kidnapped and might be dead because he couldn't stop running his mouth. Couldn't shut up. Had to be clever, got a man killed for showing him a hint of mercy. It isn't fair to pretend to be okay around her because he isn't and he lies too much as it is and right now he thinks that's the one that he can't tell or else everything's going to fall apart.
She asks, "Do you need to stay with me tonight?"
"No. I'll be fine."
And he thinks about going to his Dad's, but they hugged today and he thinks that's as good as it's going to get. He can't ask for more. He can't ask more from Juliet because he had to say "I love you, Abigail" to her to keep himself alive and she almost said it back and he knows it and it's too much. He doesn't know how he feels about that. Doesn't know how he's supposed to feel. He can't ask Gus for anything more because he's scared there too. If Gus had been there, they'd both be dead. There's just no way around that. They'd both be dead and he's almost gotten Gus killed a million times. He doesn't want to think about that right now either or about how much he takes and expects from his friend and how it's only a matter of time before Gus gives up on him.
The only other option isn't one he wants to explore until he wakes up in the middle of the night dreaming of a gun pressing against his neck. He bolts upwards in bed and turns on the lamp, searching everything for the invader that he knows must be there. But he can't see anything and if he can't see it then it doesn't exist because he needs evidence. He sits up for a while with the lamp by his bedside on hoping it'll chase the nightmares away but every times his eyes droop closed he's in the trunk, he's tied to the chair, he's got the gun kissing his jaw. And it scares him. It honest to god scares him that somehow the dead man or the man behind bars are going to show up and take him again. Back to the gas station where they'll keep him dying but alive with the occasional silhouette of someone he loves flashing on the windows just to give him hope. To remind him of how stupid and thoughtless and alone he is.
He dials the phone and closes his eyes and murmurs "Please" as it rings as if that's going to make Lassiter more likely to pick up at 3 in the morning.
"Spencer?" He was asleep, of course, but he answered and before he can hold it back, he's talking and he can't stop because he's scared and doesn't know what to do. He needs to feel safe and he can't because every time he closes his eyes it's there and Lassie please.
"Shawn," and he sounds so patient and safe and safe is so good right now. "Calm down and tell me your address." He does. "I'll be over there soon."
He sits against the wall on the floor because it's the only place where he can see all of the windows and the door. It's uncomfortable and it hurts his shoulder but hurting is better than not hurting because not hurting means he's laser focused on everything and he can't turn it off unless he has the pain to distract him. Even then, it's not enough.
He pulls his knees up and rests his arms and head against them, letting the hurt burn through him, trying to forget. He hears the roar of an engine and the slam of a car door. His heart drums loudly in his chest and only starts to slow when he sees Lassiter standing outside. He jumps to his feet and runs to the door, his feet and legs feeling wobbly. He flings the lock open and opens the door.
"Inside, Spencer," and whatever worries he had melt away. Because he thinks that Lassiter pitying him might have been too much. Lassie trying to play nice, Lassie being not Lassie and that's not what he needs. He needs rough Lassie, angry Lassie. He needs the Lassie that can have his gun in his hands and aimed at someone in less than a second at any given moment. He needs that more than he needs air.
"Thanks." And he can't meet Lassiter's eyes. He ducks his head to look anywhere else because he is a grown man who needs a security blanket and he hasn't felt this ridiculous since before the whole psychic business started.
"Go to bed. I'll be right out here." He should say something, but he can't. He just nods and goes back to his room. He turns off the lamp and closes his eyes and thinks that he's safe. He murmurs it to himself, chants as if that'll somehow make it true. He imagines Lassiter sitting in those uncomfortable seats, woken up early in the morning again by someone who can't take care of themselves. By a child having a nightmare.
That's what he is. A child. He's never going to grow up no matter how many guns get shoved into his face or how many times he almost kills the people he loves. He'll keep going because that's what he does until there's nothing left. Then he'll self destruct to prove that it doesn't matter, and at the end of the day, everyone else will be better off for it.
That's what the gunman says this time. He tells him everything. About how it's only a matter of time before Gus leaves. Before Jules finds someone else, someone worth being with. Before he finally pushes Lassiter to his breaking point. And then he'll go crawling home to Daddy who won't want anything to do with him. He'll close the door and then the next time pull his gun and tell him that if he ever sees him on his property again, he'll kill him. And suddenly the gunman is his father with that disapproving coldness that means he's tired of pretending that his son isn't a fucking mess and that he's done. He's really and truly done. And it presses against his head, cold and metallic and horrible.
I want you to imagine a bullet coming from that gun, penetrating your skin, and lodging in your brain. You know how easy that would be for me?
He wakes up tries to breathe and that's it because that's all he can do. He barely realizes he's shouting for Lassiter until the door bursts open and god bless him he has his gun. "Shawn?" And he's watching it even as it lowers because if he sees it then it isn't against his head it isn't going to kill him. Not today. Lassie wouldn't do that to him.
He wishes he could offer up some sort of explanation for himself, but he can't. "Sorry, Lassie," he mumbles and looks away because he hates it. But he doesn't know what else to do. "Maybe I should just not sleep." It's the obvious solution but he knows it'll never work. He's too sleepy, still exhausted. Getting worse with each nightmare.
Lassiter looks angry even as he walks into the room. He puts the gun down when he sees him start to shy away from it. It rests nice and easy on the bedside table, within reach but not dangerous. Not right now. He kicks off his shoes and sits on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping it as if deciding whether or not this is what he wants to do. "I'm sorry, Spencer." And he's angry because he doesn't want his pity or his sympathies. "We should have gone inside." It's only then that he realizes that Lassie thinks he's actually supposed to apologize for that.
"It's fine," he says. Because it is. Because it isn't Lassiter's fault at all.
"No." And he looks at him and he tries to look away but this time he can't. Because he's looking into Lassie's blue eyes and feels frozen. "It isn't. We could have had you out of there. We could have had you safe."
"I'd still be having nightmares even if you had."
Lassie's staring at him like he's grown a second head. "I don't care about the nightmares, you idiot." And he doesn't have a response for that because he's trying to forget why there's nightmares and where they come from and the last two days didn't happen. "Shawn, you could have died. Just because we didn't check that gas station the first time. We could have been too late even though we were right there, and it would have been our fault."
"My fault." Because it is. It all is. He shouldn't have gone to face down someone alone. He should have stopped talking. He should have screamed. "If I'd yelled then-"
"They would have killed you. You did nothing wrong. You got us there. You did good." And it's everything he's ever wanted to hear but he suddenly hates it so much because Lassiter's wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. And he'd rather face the nightmares alone than listen to this for a second longer.
"Just get out," he says and he means it and doesn't and Lassiter's suddenly glaring at him and good yes better.
"No. I don't think so."
"Get out, Lassiter," he sneers at him and Lassie looks like he wants to hit him and he wants to just push him so much harder until he does. Until all of that sympathy and mercy burns away and leaves him where he belongs.
"Do you know why I came down here at 3 in the morning, Spencer? Do you?"
And he doesn't. He really doesn't, just like he doesn't understand why Lassiter hasn't pulled the strings he'd need to in order to get rid of him once and for all. Or why Jules and Gus and his father all still put up with him. Why Abigail hasn't given up on him yet. "Because I'm worried. We all are."
"Please. Don't act like you care." He shakes his head. "Just don't." And that hurts Lassie. He can tell, but he doesn't do anything to make it better. Because that's what it is, what it's supposed to be. Living with him is hurting, and the sooner everyone else realizes it, the sooner they can move on.
"Spencer, lay down." It's an order he obeys, curled up on his side, facing away from him. "There's some reason you called me instead of Guster or O'Hara or Henry." He feels Lassiter's hand on the shoulder he isn't laying on, the hurt one, and it burns and hurts and the hand moves to his side when Lassie realizes his mistake. "You wouldn't have. If you honestly thought I didn't care."
And it's true. He thinks. Maybe. But he jerks his shoulder away and buries his head in his pillow and tries to fall asleep. Lassiter sighs and lays down next to him. It's silly and stupid, but he feels better once he edges slightly across the bed, pressing his back against Lassiter's. It's better than any security blanket.
He still has bad dreams when he falls asleep, but the next time he wakes up, he feels Lassie pressed against his back, then Lassie's arm around him, and he knows he isn't alone. And he falls back asleep knowing that he's safe.