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Shawn Spencer talks in his sleep. Now, this shouldn’t be surprising to anyone who has ever met the guy, even for a single moment. Shawn is always talking. He never seems to stop, actually, as many of his teachers, lovers, and even the criminals he’s caught have pointed out. So talking in his sleep just makes perfect sense.
It’s the things he speaks about that don’t.
Most of the time, Shawn mumbles nonsensical things. He says those when he’s awake too, sure, but these are even more out there. Things like:
“No, no, you don’t understand, Mr. President, I have no choice but to steal the nuclear launch codes for the Thanksgiving turkey you pardoned!” (Post dinner at the Guster home, knocked out on the couch.)
“Did you find Lassie down the well again, Jules?” (Fairly standard, but called out loudly as he dozed in front of the TV at the office, a textbook he was only doodling in dangling from his fingers.)
“You can’t take my queso dip! That’s a psychic tool!” (Drooled out while drunk, barely even on his bed as Gus cleaned up the apartment the best he could so Sober!Shawn wouldn’t spend the whole day trying to remember what he’d done to get that wasted.)
Gus had kept a running log. Hell, there was a group at the precinct that had a little whiteboard in which they scribbled lines spoken by Shawn during naps on long cases. Nine out of ten times, the quotes were funny and very obviously came out the same way they would if Shawn was awake. He was a nuisance through and through.
Unfortunately, Gus was astounding at probabilities and statistics and even he knew that 1% had to come back around eventually. He was just used to it coming out around him, maybe on an unlucky day Henry, but that was the worst of it. (Henry had heard the spectrum of things from Shawn anyway and was good at keeping his mouth shut when he wasn’t privy to the full details, so it was manageable.)
If Gus had thought about it, which very clearly he hadn’t, he’d have made sure Shawn fell asleep somewhere more out of the way and not in the middle of the conference room where just about everyone could hear him. But Gus hadn’t considered the sleep talking, not with so much else on his mind.
It started with a groan, an unintelligible mumble, and everyone’s eyes flicked over to Shawn. He was asleep, arm pillowing his head on the table, back only slightly less tense than when he’d drifted off, utterly exhausted after the last few days.
“Oh, this will be good!” Buzz boasted in a warm whisper, wiggling around in his seat like an overexcited puppy. He had the longest precinct-based list of Shawn’s sleepy quotes. He always loved adding more and sharing them with Shawn later; who in grandiose fashion would share the dream or create some fantasy to match the words.
Gus glanced over, his own eyes weighed down by nearly two days with less than a few stolen snatches of sleep, his own body slumped down in the chair as far as it could comfortably go to rest his overtired limbs. He saw immediately the signs he’d come to recognize as flashing warnings, lighting up and screeching DANGER ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE.
“Shit,” Gus whispered and sprang up, reaching out to try and shake Shawn, knowing it likely wouldn’t work anyway. He’d been awake nearly 56 hours and hadn’t eaten in as long, incapable of doing so when he felt the guilt riding high in his bloodstream.
Juliet, sweet and kind Juliet, grabbed his arm. Her eyebrows were raised in a sort of angry, confused wave, her lips puckered up, showing off the fat one she still hadn’t iced, “Gus, let him sleep. It’s been a long case for all of us. He can nap here.”
Gus glanced around the conference room, Buzz and Lassiter finishing paperwork, both sporting matching bruises across their faces from the pistols they’d been whipped by. Lassiter had his left sleeve rolled up, gauze taped to cover the burns slathered across his forearm. His eyes returned to Juliet, traveling from the swollen lip down to the sling she wore to support the arm that now held a bullet wound and was stitched in neat rows prior to returning to the precinct to get written statements from Gus and Shawn on their end of the case.
He sighed heavily, sweeping his gaze to Shawn. Shawn’s fist was clenched beneath his chin, knuckles nearly white as the blood flow was constricted. His breathing was just a bit too quick to be calm, and Gus knew it had nothing to do with his bruised ribs or dislocated knee. His form shook ever so slightly, like the very chair he sat on was trembling below him. Gus swallowed heavily and returned to his seat. No one was going to let him wake Shawn, and it never would’ve worked anyway.
“Just…” Gus started, stopped, eyes sad and heavy as his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks for a moment too long, “Don’t tell him about this later.”
Juliet, again, gave Gus an odd look, but she didn’t speak. Lassiter and Buzz barely glanced up at Gus, though Buzz’s eyebrows were knitted together in a clear signal of confusion. His understanding was quick to come.
“No, I’m sorry,” Shawn croaked out, voice hoarse from unshed tears. He twitched, his body nearly flinching back as the chair creaked ominously and rolled around on its wheels. “Please, this is my fault.”
Juliet’s face mirrored the spiderweb cracks Gus knew were on his windshield as she realized his words weren’t the funny, glittering jokes he normally made. “Shawn…” She whispered, hand fluttering uselessly by her side for the moment.
“It’s my fault. I gave bad information and now…” A hiccup, Gus’ heart dropping as he knew the battle being fought in his best friend’s body. “Please.”
Buzz cleared his throat, a sad and awkward look mixing like paint on his face, staining him with a grimace that did nothing to mellow out the blacks and purples dancing on his skin. “Maybe, uh, maybe someone should wake him up?”
Gus shook his head, defeated, eyes captured by the scrunch of Shawn’s eyelids, awaiting the inevitable. “No use. He won’t wake up once he’s this deep. I’ve tried it all before. Shaking, ice water, air horn… He’s dead to the world.”
It was the wrong choice of words, given the circumstances, but it was accurate. Everyone shivered. Buzz tried to pretend he couldn’t hear, eyes on the paper held too tight in his grip. Carlton straightened his spine and began writing at breakneck speed. And Juliet stared right at the prone man, rubber necking at the slow break down of the man she’d rarely ever seen frown.
“Take me. Please. Take me instead!” Shawn begged, words quick, breath quicker. “I can get you whatever you want. I’ll do so much more than just get you a ransom. Please!” He begged around another hiccuping sob.
“Shawn…” Juliet tried, unable to stop herself. She scooted forward on her chair, dropping her knees to the ground and shook at his thigh gently, then with more force. “Come on, Shawn, wake up. We’re safe. It’s okay.”
Shawn made no reaction towards O’Hara’s efforts, instead turning his face further into his arm and repeating words of similar connotation.
Buzz snuck out shortly after, looking stricken, citing the need for a drink. The door shut behind him with a loud, echoing click. Carlton’s pen stuttered to a stop by the next words.
“I deserve it. They don’t. Please. That’s my choice. Them over me. Every time, Webland.”
Obviously, it was about the case they’d just dealt with. No one was surprised on that end. Gus even had more of an idea than the rest, as they’d all been held for ransom and Shawn and Gus had been tracking them. Gus had seen Shawn, in the aftermath of his meet up with their serial killer, withdrawn and cheeks still wet. They hadn’t had a chance to talk, what with the bomb going off and Shawn tackling Gus to the ground just long enough to make him safe before half running half dragging his leg as he rushed into the building.
The others had been safe, mostly. Maimed, but alive. But this wasn’t over. The calling card was etched onto Shawn’s bicep: “Let your guards down again and you’ll see what I can really do.” Shawn blamed himself. The guy had been toying with the whole department, at first, but quickly honed in on the loudmouth who kept cracking jokes. Webland, as his letters called him, didn’t take kindly to being made into a mockery. Thus, he’d determined he’d take some cops for ransom to ‘escape the country’ and prove his prowess. Except he made it clear he’d done so due to the Santa Barbra ‘psychic detective’ being a “nosy, little brat who clearly needs his favorite companions taken away.”
None of this was new information, likely even expected if anyone had considered the dreams they’d go home to have. It was the words Shawn spoke that shocked the others, but walked a well worn groove in Gus’ beating heart.
“I DESERVE IT! Punish me, not them! PLEASE!” Shawn cried out, louder than before, barely muffled by the torn sleeve on his dirty jacket, the tears not even trickling out, just immediately flowing like warm lava.
“Shawn!” Juliet tried again, digging her nails into his thigh, her face crumbling and shattering like the spiderweb cracks finally burst. Her own tears were a steady drip as she struggled to wake him from his own personal hell.
Lassiter spoke next, voice gritty and unsure, but with his underlying tone of authority. “Spencer, wake up right this instant! That’s an order!” He barked out, turning to face the shaking man.
No reaction beyond another pained gasp, Shawn’s feet scrabbling against the laminate flooring for a moment before he seemed to droop further.
“My parents, Abigail, Lassie…” Shawn paused, inhaling like he’d never be able to again. “Gus, Jules, Buzz.. everyone..” His voice cracked and the trembling increased at breakneck speed, like a sick animal, “I ruined it all. Hurt everyone.”
“Shawn…” Juliet tried again, eyes wide, gripping at his pant leg like she could somehow keep him in reality when it was clear he was nowhere near where they all resided.
“Guster, do something!” Lassiter shouted, a hint of panic creeping into his blue eyes and jumping from his Adam’s apple.
Gus sighed and stood up, taking the seat beside his best friend. He wrapped his arms around Shawn, despite the screaming of his own elbow and wrist, causalities of the life saving tackle. He constricted himself around Shawn’s bruised ribs and squeezed, listening to the air slowly leave his friend in huffs.
“Gus, what the hell??” Juliet yelled and smacked at his hands, trying to pry his fingers off.
“Just hold on!” He grunted and after a few seconds Shawn squirmed and began to gasp, in pain, trying to seek air. Just as his own hands found the ones harming him, Gus let go and Shawn dropped like a sack. He landed so heavily that he tipped backwards and right out of the chair, spilling to the floor like the game pieces right before he gets beat by Gus.
His eyes pop open then, a long and low moan escaping past chewed up lips. Shawn’s not quite back, eyes distant as his hands go to scrub at the pain in his sides.
“Shawn! Are you okay?” Juliet asks, tears still dribbling down her cheeks, hand grabbing at his own like she can double the relief.
His eyes slowly focus on her, glide across the room to see Lassiter looking away from him in a clear show of forced privacy, see Gus in the chair beside him with that specific look on his face. Shawn sighs internally, aware of what that particular pucker to Gus’ entire face means.
Dredging up a smile that feels flimsy against his own teeth, Shawn laughs, “Guess I shouldn’t sleep in chairs that move, huh? Gus, did you eat a lemon before shoving me or something? You’ve got a sourpuss to rival Lassie!”
Juliet sits back on her heels, confused, sad. Shawn sits up, brushes himself off like he didn’t still have wet streaks shimmering down his cheeks and tosses a crumpled wrapper of a bag of peelable pineapple candy from the floor at Gus. “He’s giving you grumpy lessons! I can see it now. Little Lassie Junior!”
Shawn stood, pretending not to wince as his knee tried to falter beneath his weight, helping Juliet up with a flourish. “Seriously, Lass, you should triple your price. You could make millions teaching people how to look like they’ve constantly been skunked!”
Gus took this moment to chime in, the light not dancing in his eyes, but his jaw set with determination, “At least Lassie doesn’t fall out of his chair once a week.”
An offended gasp and the show is back on full force, Shawn erasing any lingering emotions from his appearance like shaking an Etch-A-Sketch, “Well maybe if Chief Vick put the couch back in her office I wouldn’t have to sleep in what’s clearly a death chair!”
“Death chair?! Come on, Shawn, it’s a normal computer chair. You just have no balance!” Gus argued back, the blanket he’d had draped over himself falling to the floor.
“Maybe to non-psychics like you! I have better senses than you.” Shawn sniffed haughtily, adding, “Like Daredevil.”
“Daredevil?—“ Gus crowed, their banter flaring up around him in a comfortable heat, like home. “You wish! You’d be lucky if you were a Flerkin!”
“Flerkin?? I could be way cooler than that! Like Jeff the shark! Or or Good Boy!”
“You want to be a furry superhero, Shawn? Come on, really?” Gus glared.
Shawn considered it briefly then shrugged. “Hold on. I’ll go poll everyone and tell you which superhero I get most. Bet you it’s better than yours!” Shawn stalked out of the room, a clear ploy for escape, calling back that Gus would be lucky if he was Gambit, but he’d probably be THROG.
Once the door swung shut, Gus slumped back into his chair and bounced his eyes between the two detectives staring him down.
“Gus…” Juliet started.
He waved her off, “He’ll never talk to you about it. If you ask, he’ll pretend he doesn’t remember. Shawn’s… really good at smokescreens and distractions, a true magician at hiding his feelings. You’ll never get him to acknowledge it.”
Lassiter’s words are much quieter, the sort of introspective tone he doesn’t often take, especially not in regard to the psychic detective, “Does he believe that?.. that he’s at fault for it all?”
Gus glanced out at Shawn, gesturing wildly in front of a group of cops, his left leg shaking under his weight, “Yeah. For all he boasts and seems self centered… he’s deeply broken about his own self image.”
“But… he…” Juliet tried, words a tangled knot on her tongue. “He’s always so happy?” She tried, not quite hitting her target but close enough.
“Yeah. He learned that trick at five. Happier you are, less people ask if you’re okay. Louder you are, easier it is to keep people at a distance.” Gus explained, rubbing at his face as if it would free the tension from his body.
Juliet made a wounded sound and Lassiter grunted with her. Both seeing a side of Shawn Spencer that only a handful of people had ever glimpsed. They both, independently and internally, determined right then to try and show Shawn his worth in their own ways. Juliet was already planning a gift basket to thank him for the case and a discussion with the Chief. Lassiter decided to tone down some of his death threats, at least for a bit, maybe offer the kid a few words of praise when he returned.
Gus, meanwhile, sent a quick message to Henry, simply stating “Water level is pretty high today.”
Henry replied instantly, “I’ll make sure the life vests are packed.”
Gus smiled, returning his phone to his pocket, glad he and Henry had this code to help Shawn out without his knowledge.
Then, Shawn bust back in, Buzz in tow, charging the atmosphere. “Buzz said I can be the Winter Soldier because of my bum knee! I could have a cool metal leg!”
Gus scoffed, “The Winter Soldier has a prosthetic arm, Shawn! And you’re nowhere near cool enough to be Bucky Barnes!”
“I’m bisexual enough and my hair is magnificent!” He argued back, twisting his head around as if he had flowing locks to show off.
“Bucky was gay!” Gus argued immediately, smiling slightly as the conversation quickly devolved.