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Shawn inhaled slow, pushing the air back out in a forced huff like it would poison his insides if he held it too long. Shaking his hands and fingers out, he looked around again, trying to find something to distract his mind, even if it wouldn’t work.
Eidetic memories weren’t always a gift. They were overwhelming, always taking in details and having them accessible with just a few flicks of his thoughts. Worse, when compounded by Henry’s training to teach him just how to take in every single detail, both subconsciously and consciously. Throw in a not so small sprinkle of ADHD and you had a real concoction to rival Professor Utoniom’s.
Shawn’s mind had always been loud, a cafeteria in a high school, a Laker’s game after a victory, a monster truck rally. It had always just been loud and fast and a lot to handle. With his memory and his honed abilities, it often got even stickier to work with. But Shawn managed. A lot of it was background noise at this point, things he could wave off nine times out of ten because it was his normal.
Somedays, though, it wasn’t nearly as easy to wave away the amount of input. Somedays, it was downright impossible. Today, unfortunately, was one of those days.
Shawn bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to excise the energy that was building in his veins like a live wire amping up for a pulse. He knew that the best cure at this point would be to go somewhere with as minimal stimulation as possible, to try and drift off to a restless sleep, and hopefully wake a little less on edge. The problem with that plan was that he was in the Psych office, too far from his place to walk, and unsure where else to go with his mind already hurtling towards hell without even a hand basket for protection.
Shawn grabbed his phone, skimming through the favorited contacts. He found Gus fairly easily, being as he was number one, and pressed to call, throwing it on speakerphone before promptly dropping it to rest on his desk as he paced, hands jittering by his hips like a bad attempt at jazz hands.
One ring. Two rings.
Three. Click, static, “Hey, Shawn, what’s up?”
“Gus!” Shawn cried, relief and pain mashed together, “Where are you?”
“Driving in Summerland. You know I had to take over Moriarty’s route for the week because he’s on sick leave for that cyst removal. Why? What’s going on?”
Shawn ignored the cold flash of queasiness at the memory of his deep dive into that procedure, having wanted to gross Gus out, but only succeeding in doing it to himself three days later because his brain was too overwhelmed to care that he was all but desensitized to gore. “Dammit.”
“Shawn?” Gus called out again, voice pitched a little higher now as he tried to check in and get a better reading on the situation.
“I’m… I need to get out of here and I can’t ride my bike. I won’t make it,” Shawn stressed, feeling the itch up his neck, making him twitch a little harder as he crossed the length of the room again.
The bike was loud. Too loud. It also had a little extra shake to it due to a loose component he hadn’t fixed because it wasn’t causing issues. God, he hated his past self. But his past self had also bought a box of strawberry poptarts that were sitting on his counter at home, awaiting his return. They were next to the scratch from the time he dropped his knife when trying to cut a candied apple. It was a deep gouge, about a quarter of the way up the counter top, hidden usually by the coaster he never used elsewhere. It was a coaster Gus had gotten him—.
Stop!
His mind racing back as his brain filled in the sensations and feelings of each memory he glossed over, from the excitement of buying the poptarts to the dread about the knife stuck two inches into his counter to the laughter about the coaster, he could feel his lungs filling with water as he was beginning to drown in overwhelm.
“Shawn!” Gus called again, momentarily grabbing his attention.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here…” He mumbled, huffing through his breath again, wishing he had something better to distract with than pacing. His feet had gone numb twenty minutes ago from how tight he’d tied his shoes, trying to focus on one sensation, and failing instead.
“Too much?” Gus inquired, but he knew the answer and Shawn could hear the shuffling sounds that meant he was likely texting someone. He must’ve pulled over. Gus was not a guy to text and drive. Especially not in a company car.
Shawn nodded before remembering he had to speak, his own voice rasping against his throat as the mental overstimulation began to work its way fully to physically, “Way too much, buddy.”
“I knew we should’ve made that closet a sensory friendly space,” Gus grumbled, but it held no heat. “Okay, I can’t come get you. But I sent a few messages. Someone should be there in the next few minutes to get you.”
“Someone?” Shawn asked, fingers digging into his eyes as flashes of every single person it could possibly be, and a few hundred that it couldn’t, raced through his minds eye at camera shutter speed.
“Yeah. Whoever answers first between Juliet and your dad.”
“Jules?” Shawn questioned in a whine, trying very hard to shove away the half memories montage of her starting from the diner up to the present and the ADHD interloping thoughts of how soft her hair was and how he’d love to kiss her and all the little things he couldn’t help but think.
“I said it was a migraine coming on. Too many visions at once,” Gus explained, but he couldn’t talk for much longer. He’d arrived and his next client was actively at the door, toe tapping and looking at their watch like Gus was late to a curfew. “Shawn? I’ve got to go. I’ll swing by and check on you as soon as I can.”
Shawn only grunted, listening for the sound of the phone call ending, before he screamed out in a short burst to the empty office. It didn’t echo and it didn’t do a damn thing to help him. Shawn scrubbed at his arms, nails briefly scraping layers of epidermis as he tried to ground just long enough. If it was Juliet that showed up, he really didn’t want her to see too much of this. Not that he wanted Henry to, either, but Henry had seen a lot while Shawn grew up and at least that level of uncomfortable was more familiar.
The universe, though, loved to laugh at Shawn Spencer.
“Shawn?” Juliet spoke, a whispered yell, as she opened the Psych office door and toed her way inside.
Shawn, at this point, was sat below his desk, staring at the empty metal under it, trying to focus solely on that as he breathed shallow breaths. He didn’t reply to Juliet. She’d find him.
“Shawn?” She called again and he couldn’t help but to notice her heels turn towards his desk. They were newer, not scuffed, the color still vibrant. He could just see the blisters forming near her heel, where her bandaid had slipped earlier in the day and she hadn’t yet noticed the pain. Breaking them in then, he deduced, another rush of heat across his skin as his brain began to run through all the shoes Juliet owned to try and calculate whether she’d used these new ones as replacement or if they were just for fun.
The buzzing was deafening. Shawn was drowning. And Juliet’s stupid heels weren’t helping.
Rearing back, Shawn slammed his fist into the metal hard enough to watch it shake and listen to it squeal just before his knuckles split and smudged blood and tissue on it like a diorama of a crime scene. The pain, stinging and hot, the ache in his knuckles promptly making residence, shut his brain down for just a few minutes and he felt his muscles relax slightly.
“Shawn!” Juliet cried and dropped to her knees beside him, eyes wide and worried.
His breathing labored, Shawn tried to pass off a watery smile, “Hey, Jules.”
Juliet, unknowing of the regression she’d cause on the little he’d gained against his torturous brain, reached down and all but dragged Shawn from his safe little cubby. She immediately began to look over his hand, prodding at the split skin to confirm it wasn’t broken, concern pouring off of her in waves.
Shawn let her do just that, trying to continue to focus on the pain, replaying the squeal of metal in his head ten times before it began to devolve into every other semi-similar noise he’d heard like a bad cacophony of annoyance. Stomp Out Loud, the movie, but without any of the rhythm. Shawn cringed and made sure to wince, moving his hand just enough for Juliet to have to grip it a little tighter, inducing another ache of its own.
“What did you do? Are you okay?” She started, but wasn’t done yet, peppering questions at him like Henry seasoned salmon, “Gus said this was some sort of migraine coming on because of a vision. This doesn’t seem like a migraine, Shawn.”
He shrugged a tad, not meeting her eyes, “Their energy was too much. Needed an outlet.” It was the best explanation he had and hey, it had a kernel of truth.
She frowned, deepening as she stood and tugged him up with her. He swayed a little, mind still very much controlling his body’s ability to function, but he kept himself standing. Juliet began to dig through Gus’ desk for a first aid kit. And oh. He was under Gus’ desk. That made sense. He knew he’d stuck some magnets under his own. A pineapple, a crude joke about a crab restaurant, a twilight meme that was definitely a little too inappropriate for their guests to see and a few other smaller ones. He’d wondered where they’d gone but had shoved off the million answering possibilities.
Juliet wiped his split knuckles, still sluggishly bleeding, with an alcohol wipe as she spoke, “Okay. So what can I do? Is it better now or do you need something?”
Shawn swallowed, eyes on his hand that was already swelling, “No it’s… I…” he paused, unsure where to go from here.
Juliet forced his eyes on hers, ducking her head to meet them, “It’s okay. There isn’t a wrong answer.”
Shawn sighed, feeling a little tension leak out of him, but still trying to speak over the raging inferno inside of him, “I need to get somewhere quiet. Empty. Just… a place with less to…to…” a pause as he concocted the lie from the truth, “get readings and energy from. Then I can try to nap until things even back out.”
Juliet hummed, thinking, returning to the task of cleaning up his hand in broad swipes, “Where’s a good place? I’m not sure what has um.. the least amount of psychic energy?..” She seemed unsure, but willing to help.
Shawn considered it, hating that every option came through his head with fifteen tag along lists of pros and cons. It was nearly a full minute before he’d sorted through enough to speak again, “Can you just drop me off at my dad’s?”
It wasn’t perfect. The barrage of memories and feelings and thoughts there wouldn’t be any better. But he knew that Henry hadn’t ever dismantled the third bedroom from when Maddie had set it up after Shawn’s official ADHD diagnosis. It held mostly plain furniture, a small bed and a set of drawers that held varying items. Both a sensory shutdown chamber and a place he could easily dig out all the puzzles and fidgets he needed to keep him busy. The corner was a nest of bean bag chairs and blankets and pillows, piled high enough to sink into like a foam pit. It was quiet and dark and while it wouldn’t fix everything, Shawn knew it was a good start.
Juliet nodded, finishing tying the gauze around his fist, “Yeah, of course. Are you… going to be okay?” She asked, catching his eye again.
Shawn smiled, weaker than normal, not nearly as potent as he wanted it to be, but genuine enough to tamp down her fears, “Yeah. It’ll be fine. Just a break from the spirits and I’ll be right as rain.”
Juliet led him out to the car, seeming to accept his words. And if she didn’t comment on the fidgeting or flinching on the drive over, then that was just because she didn’t want to make it worse. By the time they’d pulled into Henry’s drive, Shawn’s eyes were pricked with tears and he was tugging at his hair, so she said nothing, climbing out to help him inside. Henry met her at the door, gave her a thankful smile, and then bundled his kid under his arm and hurried him inside like he’d drop right on the stoop.
Juliet stood there after the door closed, reminding herself to breathe in and out for just a moment longer. Shawn would be fine. Just because he wasn’t okay right now didn’t mean he wouldn’t be. She knew that from experience. It just never seemed to get easier to suddenly be forced under what she was now realizing was at least partially a shell.
She’d really need to talk to him about it. Or Gus, or Henry, someone who would help her to become a safe space for Shawn. He didn’t seem to have many and she was grateful for the bits he let her see, but she wanted to do more for him.
Settled on the idea, Juliet climbed back inside her little green Beetle, pulling away from the house just as the light in the upstairs window that she’d never seen on before flickered to life.