Chapter Text
Shawn took a sip of his drink, savoring the flavor of it as it ran down his throat. He gently placed the glass on the table, listening to the music playing through the speakers of the pub before looking at the woman on the other side of the table. She was blonde, her hair flowing down her shoulders like the rippling waters of a river. She was wearing a nice pink blouse, and she had gorgeous brown eyes that Shawn definitely didn’t mind staring into for the rest of the night.
He gave her a small smile that was reciprocated almost immediately, and then she started to speak.
“So, Shawn,” she said his name with a bit of emphasis, like she was delightfully surprised that she was sitting across from him.
“You have some real magic—that psychic-ness and all.” She moved a hand to her head, wiggling her fingers she referred to his “psychic-ness,” no doubt influenced by the gestures he pulled during the case earlier that day. “Sorry if this was a little… Well, abrupt. Hope you don’t mind going on a date after a case.”
Shawn chuckled, tapping a finger against his drink.
“I don’t mind, like, at all,” he reassured her, noticing the way she began to bite her lip and glance down at her drink.
“I know how sexy the whole psychic thing can be,” he continued, grinning as she huffed out a laugh, her shoulders slowly relaxing and her eyes making contact with him.
“Y’know,” she picked up her glass, taking a swig of it before placing it down with a loud clank. “I was a little skeptic at first—I never really believed in the whole ‘supernatural’ mumbo jumbo. But my friend assured me that you were great at what you did, and you definitely didn’t disappoint.”
Shawn couldn’t help but take a little pride in her words. He liked hearing good things about his work, even while having to hide it under the guise of being psychic.
“Well, there are a lot of fakes out there, I’ll tell you that.” He shrugged, nodding his head as if he were confirming his own words. “But, seriously, no need to thank me. I’m just doing it to help—and maybe for the promise of dessert afterwards.” Shawn winked at her, which was responded with a giggle and a quick touch to her hair.
“That’s enough about me though, I want to hear a bit about you.”
“Right,” she affirmed, but her tone suggested that she was holding a word or two back.
“What?” Shawn asked with a tilt of his head.
“Well, there was just one more thing I wanted to ask—I don’t know if it’s too silly.” Her smile developed a downwards form, and her eyebrows knit up.
Shawn shook his head. “There’s no such thing as ‘silly questions,’ unless, of course, it's the question of whether or not vanilla is the best flavor in a tub of neapolitan ice cream.”
She laughed once more before her face grew a little more serious, which made Shawn raise an eyebrow.
“Since you’re psychic and all, you can communicate with loved ones, right?” She questioned, leaning in as she watched Shawn down the last of his drink.
Shawn coughed, a bit shocked at the sudden change of the conversation. He cleared his throat, feeling whatever got caught up in his throat go away. He set down the glass, pushing it aside since it was empty.
“Yeah, uh, I can.”
The features on her face lightened up, her not-really-a-frown loosening into a grin and her back becoming straighter.
“Could you talk to my grandpa, maybe? I just want to know if he’s doing okay. His name was Finnigan Marrough.”
“Finnigan Marrough,” Shawn repeated slowly, pursing his lips before closing his eyes. He brought a hand up to one of his eyebrows.
Hopefully, "attempting" to communicate with the dead would make him look even more cool, but Shawn didn’t actually expect anything. He was expecting to act confused, and say something along the lines of,
It seems like someone has some bad juju here. I can’t seem to get through to the spirit realm…
He definitely didn’t expect to actually hear and see things. At first it was rushed whispers, none of the sounds forming any understandable syllables or vowels, moreover any palpable words. He saw visions of places, none that he recognized, but they were coming in so quickly that he gave up on trying to focus on any of them. Then the sounds he was hearing started to quiet down, or started to combine; Shawn really couldn’t tell. It then became a clear voice that echoed through his head.
Alright, was all the voice said. It was deep, holding the gruff tone of someone who was no doubt elderly. The unfamiliar voice spooked him, causing him to open his eyes with genuine shock. It was different than imagining a voice in his head—that was predictable and voluntary—this voice seemingly protruded his mind and spoke on its own command.
The woman watched his eyes open widely, her own stare becoming more worried. Her eyebrows raised, surely almost to the top of her head, as she waited for a response from Shawn.
“Did he say anything?” She couldn’t help but ask, her own intrigue getting to her.
“He, uh, said he’s alright,” Shawn mumbled, trying his best to conceal the distress that wanted to escape through his voice. He had been training with this eidetic memory for his whole life, and while he could envision places and voices clearly, he had to have encountered it previously. Even if he did, it never came through his mind like that.
She started grinning once again, letting out a small sigh of relief.
“Oh, that’s great to hear. You really are incredible.”
“Yeah…” Shawn responded absently, his mind still trying to comprehend whatever the hell just happened.
He feigned a frustrated groan, and slammed a hand down on the table.
“You know what? I just remembered that my dad wanted me back by…” Shawn noticed the time on a nearby person’s watch. “Nine. Nine o’ clock, and it’s almost that time.”
She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head in a confused manner.
“I am so sorry, really,” Shawn uttered quickly, shoving a fist in his pocket, ready to pull out his phone as he slid off the stool. “My dad’s really strict about this stuff, still thinks I can’t stay out late without almost getting myself killed.”
Shawn didn’t pay attention to whatever she said after, too focused on getting out of the pub.
Shawn shoved his way out the door, hastily weaving through people on the sidewalk as he tried to find a quick, private place to slip away to.
He settled on a bench in an area that was thankfully clear of people, and he took his phone out. He went through his contacts, searching for Gus. His leg started to bounce as he waited for Gus to pick up, his body too active and his mind racing.
“Hello?”
“Gus!” Shawn practically blurted out, “Dude, I think- I don’t know what happened or what’s going on- but I think I'm starting to have actual visions. Y’know, real ones.”
“Shawn, Shawn! Calm down. What are you saying?” Gus asked with clear bewilderment in his tone.
“I think I’m really psychic!”
There was hesitation on the other side of the line.
“…What? ”
“Okay, start from the beginning,” Gus stated calmly, sitting down on his chair. Shawn lounged on the couch, stretching his legs over the arm rest.
Shawn told him to go to the Psych office—where they were currently at.
“I just… I saw all these visions, which, now that I think about it, might’ve been memories or places from the guy’s life. And then I heard a voice. It was deep, and definitely not familiar.”
“So you think you actually spoke to this guy?”
“Well,” Shawn sighed, “We didn’t actually talk, talk. He just said a word, and then I moved my hand and it was gone."
“What’d he say?” Gus furrowed his eyebrows, putting his elbows on his thighs and leaning inwards as he became more interested.
“He just said ‘Alright.’ I don’t know if he meant he was alright, or if being dead was alright, or…” Shawn trailed off as he focused on remembering the moment.
“At least you’re technically no longer lying to the police,” Gus joked.
“It had to be my imagination, right? I mean, nobody just becomes psychic.” Shawn rolled over to his side, looking at Gus as if he had the answer.
Gus shrugged in response.
“I’m probably just tired,” Shawn mumbled, putting his hands over his eyes.
“I’ll wait for you to be more sure so we can talk more about this later. I got a presentation early tomorrow.”
Shawn grumbled, rolling over so his back was facing Gus. His body dipped further into the leather couch as he adjusted to a comfortable laying position.
“Are you staying here?”
“Nah, just taking a quick nap…” Shawn’s voice was barely audible as he spoke.
“Alright. See you later, Shawn,” Gus said as he walked out the office. The last thing Shawn heard was the door shutting, and the faint footsteps of Gus walking away.
Shawn laboriously pushed himself from the couch, a sharp pain rising from his neck as he did so. He reached a hand towards the pain and rubbed at it, willing for it to go away. The sun shining through the gaps in the blinds made him squint; he must’ve slept the whole night. He remembered the events of last night in his usual way.
Date at the bar, psychic visions, talking with Gus --
The psychic visions, Shawn remembered.
He thought about how it started: He closed his eyes, and put a hand to his eyebrows. And then it began.
He was tempted to do the same thing as yesterday, but the weirdness surrounding the whole experience made him hesitant to do so.
To distract himself from the whole thing, he moved over to the fridge, grabbing a bowl of cut up pineapple that he’d been saving for later. He thought about going to the police station, just waltzing in there and pretending like yesterday had never happened. It was for the better—he’d go on investigating with Gus on their own time, then he’d come back with some crazy “psychic hunch” and he’d be right. Everything could still be normal.
Shawn stuck his hand back into the bowl, his fingers sliding around as he tried to look for another piece of pineapple. He didn’t realize that he ate it all while thinking.
But the more he thought about it, the more tempted he was. He maybe has this super cool power, and he wasn’t even utilizing it?
Shawn wiped his hand on his shirt, the juice creating obvious stains, before raising it to his eyebrow. It wasn’t pressing against it, not just yet. He sighed, sucking up whatever fears and whatever inside told him not to, and he closed his eyes and pushed his hand just a little further, until it was touching him.
Almost instantly, those strange whispers came back. Just like last time, he couldn’t make out anything. Although the voices weren’t clear this time, his visions were.
It wasn’t perfect, definitely not by any artist, but Shawn could see a heart. What did that mean? Was it a future reading? Did whoever- whatever was in his head love him?
That’s a little cliché, spirits, Shawn thought as he focused on the image. He then directed it to the whispers, which still hadn’t cleared up.
He sighed, a few seconds away from giving up and releasing himself from the psychic grip until the image changed. It came in fast, and had a sort of force that made him tilt his head back a bit from the pushback, not unlike the feeling of air pushing against him as he sped through the streets of the city on his motorcycle. The sounds that the spirits made were still illegible, but they almost sounded backwards. Like the audio of a movie when it was being rewinded.
Then it all calmed down. The noises became silent, and the visions finally turned into something a little more clear.
Shawn saw a house. He took note of the way the paint on the walls was chipping, and the steps leading to the porch were a little worn down—it definitely seemed lived in.
A girl sat on the brick steps. She was very little, definitely not past the age of three. Her eyes were blue, and her hair, which was done into pigtails that looked more like antennas due to her not having enough hair for them to actually go down, had a tinge of redness to it. She was staring up at the person—Shawn deduced that he was seeing through someone’s eyes—with childlike admiration.
Based on the way the view moved, Shawn could tell that the person took a few steps further, and sat down next to the toddler. There weren't many sounds; only the flowing of wind through the grass and the occasional sound of a bird singing.
The visions left almost as quickly as they came, and he pulled his hand away from his eyebrow, dropping it by his side. Shawn tried to piece together what he saw. First, it was a heart, maybe something to do with romance. Then, it was a moment through the perspective of someone else. They had to connect in some way.
Shawn tried to think through the possibilities. It was a little frustrating not being able to work with real evidence and not being able to travel to an area or talk to anybody for more clues. All he had were the visions in his head and whatever the spirits were telling him, who really weren’t any help.
Maybe the spirits loved whoever the perspective of the vision was from, or maybe the vision itself was about love—some sort of familial relationship. That one was obviously true as he could sense a mixture of affection and care, but he felt that there was another meaning underneath. Shawn kept mulling over the meaning of the whole ordeal.
A heart, love, perspective of someone…
Shawn came to a conclusion that made the most sense out of all his thoughts.
Was he going to love whoever’s eyes he was seeing through?