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philtstone · 2 months ago

Note

Touch prompts: “feeling their pulse” for Shawn and Gus

so like .... i compromised my most staunchly held principle (there is objectively way too much of this kind of fic in the psych tag and i refuse to contribute MORE) to write this. alas; it would not let me go not sure how i feel about it as a standalone - i think it belongs in a larger fic, tbh, but im trying to be responsible and post these as prompts instead of spending weeks on a real story. i'll probably expand on it (and situate it in a generally more fun story) eventually. warnings for cursory description of blood, throw up and a broken arm & set during the events of 4x09, aka shawn takes a shot in the dark

In Gus’s memory, the Tuesday before Junior Prom is marked by the dead frogs in biology class and the most disgustingly broken bone the world ever had the displeasure of witnessing.

“Mr. Spencer!” he had shrieked, operating on pure and unadulterated survival instinct.

They were fifteen and stupid – the way being angry at your parents makes you stupid, or being scared of how much you want to see Destiny B from first period art naked makes you stupid. When Gus yelled, feeling cold all over despite the hot after-school May sun, a weird hoarse twist he wasn’t used to tightened his throat. It overrode his gag reflex, thankfully, but unfortunately also made him sound like a panicking girl. Shawn didn’t say anything. They had a system. If Gus couldn’t look at Shawn’s broken ulna without throwing up, then he also couldn’t see the tears leaking out of Shawn’s eyes as he pressed his face against the scraggly front lawn and groaned in a horrible not-normal version of his recently-cracking teenaged boy voice.

Plausible deniability for both of them.

“Fuck,” Shawn managed between sobs. Gus’s mom would have killed them both if she ever heard that word. “Gus, Gus it really hurts –”

“Don’t,” said Gus. He couldn’t look. This was so much worse than that time Shawn got a nosebleed in gym class it got all over his grinning teeth. He wasn’t grinning this time. He was shaking, like a leaf. Like one of those leaves from the plant unit in biology class, and oh, God – the frog. “Don’t, don’t, don’t.”

“Make it stop!”

Gus couldn’t. It was horrible. He’d told Destiny two weeks prior that he wanted to be a doctor when he grew up and he couldn’t even look at his best friend’s broken arm. He wasn’t panicking, not in the way Joy used to tease him for when they were kids (not grown-up fifteen year olds) and he’d get nervous around the water slides at Six Flags, but in this memory Gus felt scared in a new way that was somehow worse than water slides. “I told you that branch w-wouldn’t – I told you it wouldn’t hold, Shawn!” He shouldn’t have been yelling; it made him feel better anyway. “Why wouldn’t you just listen to me for once –”

The front door slammed open and shut and heavy footsteps rushed toward them. The broken arm probably hurt a lot, because Shawn wasn’t even mad at Gus for summoning his dad. Gus kept on shouting at his own shoes. To this day he has pretty much no idea what he was actually saying. The act of berating on its own was therapeutic.

Therapeutic had been one of the words he’d spelled right in the spelling bee.

“Shawn!”

In the memory, Mr. Spencer’s voice invades their bubble like a popping bb gun and a big bucket of cool water in summertime all at once. The broken arm was not actually his fault, but Shawn had climbed the tree because he was fifteen and angry and Gus had hung back on the ground because he was fifteen and thinking about Destiny’s long swinging braids. Somehow both of these things connected back to the general presence of Henry, weeks away from divorce, hanging over their heads. He’d been the one who grounded Shawn two days prior for skipping second period for the millionth time, and Gus wasn’t sure he wanted to go to Junior Prom (where Destiny would be, slow dancing with Micheal H for sure) alone.

“Shawn – ah, Jesus. Gus. Gus, come on, calm down, kid.” Two firm hands grabbed Gus by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet, and his tirade died in his throat. He was kind of shaking, too, but there was a sharp edge of fear to Henry’s voice that came out sounding almost angry and somehow made Gus feel better. “You’re okay, alright? You’re okay. He’s okay. This isn’t your fault. Go inside and get my car keys.”

Gus can’t really remember whether he made it to the bathroom before spilling his guts. He figures it’s kind of an immaterial detail, nineteen years later.

“Gus,” Shawn mumbles. “Gus, I got blood on you.”

“Shut up, Shawn,” Gus says.

Shawn isn’t dead, which is pretty obvious to everyone now. Gus has been convinced of it for the last twenty-four hours. If Shawn was dead, Gus would’ve felt it. This is a conclusion he came to at around eleven a.m Pacific Standard Time, still in his pajamas and halfway through one of the gross protein bars Juliet keeps in her purse to keep his brain functioning on something one tier above pure fear. He used to wonder about it in college – whether Shawn was lying in a ditch somewhere without him. The idea would float through his head on random days when he was in crisis about stupid stuff like his upcoming Chem 102 final and prone to catastrophizing, and he’d think miserably that Shawn was probably on a sunny beach surrounded by beautiful women and Dolph Lundgren, momentarily freak because dude, what if he’s in Northern Guatemala and dead, and hasn’t even said anything? That would be just like Shawn, and then, finally, he’d eat a Kit-Kat and go for a walk around campus and finish his study notes and everything would be fine. A week later he’d get a postcard, like Shawn had somehow read his mind all the way from Bardstown, Kentucky, and pretend he didn’t miss his friend someplace deep in his ever-feeling stomach.

This morning he became convinced. He’d know. That has to be how it works. Nothing else makes sense, and Gus is a person who likes to believe in the reasonable and rational when he can.

Yeah, says Shawn’s regular, not-mumbly voice in his head. Like mummies and curses and ghosts. Absolutely the most sensible person I know, buddy, bar none.

Shawn’s real voice is slurring something unintelligible and sounding a lot less coherent than he did fifteen minutes ago when jumped onto the hood of a moving vehicle. Like an action movie star. Gus can’t even bring himself to be pumped about how cool that was, theoretically, because –

“EMTs are on their way.”

“Well can’t they get here faster?”

“I’m not a goddamn teleportation service! Guster, get his head up –”

“His head is fine, will you just –”

“Stop jostling him!”

“He’s my son, Lassiter, don’t fucking tell me what to do – Shawn – Shawn –”

After the adrenaline wore off and Shawn’s legs turned to jello, getting him to sit up against the car was kind of hard. He is, as a result, currently lying on the ground with his head in Gus’s lap, manfully, while they wait. Juliet took care of locking the bad guy in the other car and has sort of shut down, emotionally speaking – her sweet face is the color of chalk and her eyes are like saucers and she keeps answering her radio so fast her hands blur – and Lassiter’s trying (ungainingly, now that the shooting is over) to take charge to make himself feel better.

Henry’s the only one who seems capable of being practical. Gus knows this version of him well.

“Gus … you hate blood. 'Cept when you're tellin' me to lick it.”

Shawn again, being unhelpful. As always. Gus is too relieved to gag. Maybe later.

“At this juncture I am neutral about blood,” Gus tells him, in his best Professional Pharmaceutical Salesman Voice. Shawn grins crookedly up at him. He’s like, half passed out already, and the only thing keeping Gus sane is the steady beat of his pulse in his neck, where it presses hot and sweaty against Gus’s hand. Hot and sweaty makes him think of their junior prom. That was gross, though Gus supposes he didn’t mind at the time. They barely made it to the thing anyway. Shawn milked his stupid cast like his life depended on it and Destiny, who was big into art, sat at their table instead of dancing with Michael H so she could doodle on it with the Sharpies she carried in her frilly clutch. She and Gus spent almost the whole night talking. She was like, his second ever kiss.

Back to the present. Through the power of Henry Spencer’s eyebrows Lassie’s been successfully banished – warded off, whatever – and Gus briefly wonders if he should be a bad friend (to Juliet) and ask that she come over and hold Shawn’s hand or something. Then Henry locks eyes with him and he realizes suddenly and inescapably that no, actually, Shawn will not want her to be here for this.

“Shawn,” Henry says.

“Hi, Dad,” Shawn manages. He’s still grinning, but his face is pale. Pasty. Shawn’s kind of tan as far as white guys go (Gus remembers Joy declaring this once, the way she always liked to declare things, when they were eight and she was twelve) so the gray tinge to his cheeks doesn’t become him. "Unhg… this’sucks. Kinda … numb tho’. I think ‘s getting better.”

It’s not really getting better. Gus looks at the dirty, slick duct tape matted into Shawn’s tattered shirt and feels his ears ringing. This is one of top ten most unforgivable pranks Shawn has pulled on him in their lifetime, without a doubt.

“Kid, I’m so sorry. I have to stop the bleeding.”

“S’still bleedin’?”

It is. Gus’s leg is damp. Probably sticky. Every molecule in his body is trying not to think about it.

“Gus, brace his shoulder.”

“Yes sir.”

Shawn’s mind registers what’s about to happen a second before Henry presses down; Gus can see it all click in his drooping eyes, which widen. The noise that comes out of his mouth is sudden and horrible. Worse than God’s most disgusting broken bone. Gus doesn’t move, but his stomach lurches, and his head spins. Henry’s pressure is firm and professional and unyielding and he can see the old brown jacket the older man stripped off his own shoulders start to stain where it rests against Shawn, who seems to be remembering that he got shot with a real live bullet for the first time since they found him.

“Dad – Dad, stop, stop, fuck! Why’d you – doesn’ haft’ – jus -”

Plausible deniability, Gus thinks while Shawn complains. It would be normal except Henry's actually apologizing. He stares at the ugliest sepia-patterned fruit on his best friend's dad's shirt and counts to ten, then twelve, then thirteen. He wonders what Destiny's up to these days. He doesn't look and pretends not to hear, either.

“Gus,” Henry says after another minute, and Gus looks up. With a jolt, he realizes that he’s watching Henry Spencer cry. Nothing about his voice has changed; nothing about his posture has changed. The faint sound of an ambulance invades their consciousness while mundane, dull tears shine in the pale afternoon sun as they leak out of the older man's eyes and down his grizzled exhausted face. “You need to throw up?”

He does, kind of. Shawn’s spare hand has grabbed the dirty fabric of Gus’s jeans in one fist. He isn’t yelling anymore and from over Henry’s shoulder Gus can see Juliet, across the road, looking over at them desperately. She probably can't see the details, but there's no way she hasn't heard. Shawn gasps a shaky breath and squeezes his eyes shut and bites down into his own shirtsleeve to muffle himself. Gus and the car are blocking the worst of it from everyone else. The sirens are properly loud now.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Henry says. “You know? It just looks like hell.”

Like he’s fifteen again, and being ordered to go get the keys. Gus shakes his head anyway, and Henry doesn’t ask again.

#i just keep thinking abt gus and henry. percolating as the girls say #i do think it needs expansion but thats just bc im being petty #my writing #psych #burton guster #shawn spencer #shawn x gus #henry spencer #touches prompt meme #psych usa #psych 2006

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sadisticpussies · 1 year ago

Text

He’s in Las Vegas, exasperatedly laboring through hour three of his eight hour shift as a bartender at the Herbs & Rye restaurant — his tolerance for the day had already exceeded its limit after an unfortunate encounter with a group of white collar men who’d made a complaint to his manager about his poor work ethic and his uncanny sarcasm.

His boss, Thomas, had pulled him to the side to quietly reprimand him, sternly reminding Shawn that he was on strike two and if he were to get another complaint from one more customer that his employment would be terminated. It’s not like he necessarily needed this job because just like the others, they’d been temporary; sufficing him just enough for food and for him to save enough so he can move onto the next town.

But he’s only been here for a week; barely managing to save enough to survive off of anything except for microwaveable tv dinners and canned ravioli due to the lackluster minimum wage. He couldn’t afford to lose this job so quickly, especially considering that he was planning on going to Tijuana and already had an itinerary full of mischief that required at least $1,000 to indulge in.

He’s fixing a customer another drink; Stacy, who’d stumbled in an hour earlier solemnly confessing to him about her recent discovery of her husband’s infidelity, she’d chugged down to full glasses Smirnoff gulping them down without a burning wince as she continuously divulged about her marital problems when he heard Thomas beckoning his name in attention.

“Spencer, how many times have I told you about the rules against personal calls while on the clock?” He was sauntering up to Shawn, irritation’s evident across his face as he points a finger at him. “You’re treading on a very thin line here,” He forewarns, much to Shawn’s confusion.

“Personal call?” He wasn’t expecting anyone to call; the only person who knows where he currently is is his mother and he knows that the retreat she had gone to didn’t allow cellphones of any kind for her to make a phone call to him.

Thomas wasn’t amused by Shawn’s confusion, his irritation only accrued as he rolled his eyes and pointed his thumb over his shoulder where the kitchen was. “It’s some guy saying he’s your father. Said he needed to talk to you. Make it quick.” He avers, narrowing his eyes at Shawn before turning away to attend to a customer who has his glass raised midair and calls out for a refill.

Shawn’s confusion heightens as he ponders on why his father was suddenly seeking contact with him. It’s been four years since he’s last seen him; the communication between then was minimal with it being mostly brief exchanges of Shawn assuring his father that yes he is alive and no he hadn’t done something outlandish like join a cult as his father often presumed.

It was never long before their conversations transitioned into arguments — his father’s disdain about Shawn’s abrupt decision to leave after high school instead of attending college or enrolling in the police academy and Shawn’s disdain about his father ruining their family by divorcing his mother was always the reason. They’d bicker; spewing accusations and hurtful insults at each other until one of them got too tired of arguing and would hang up.

His mother would often call to check in, inquiring about his health and safety, avid to hear about what new sites he’s seen in his travels. And like always she’d try to absolve the tension between him and his father, attempting to convince Shawn to seek out contact with him first and have an actual conversation (that didn’t include arguing) but her efforts were futile because Shawn was always haste to refuse, still too upset with his father to even think about reconciliation.

He already felt drained from today, dealing with Thomas and the restaurant full of rude and entitled customers he doesn’t think he has the energy to argue with his father. He assures Thomas of a quick return before sauntering off to the back to retrieve the phone. He picks it up, pressing one hand against his ear to shield the noisiness ricocheting from the front.

“Dad, whatever this is about I can’t deal with it right now. I’m at work—” He peers up, seeing Thomas impatiently tapping his finger against his watch as he mouthed hurry up. Shawn nods, turning away as he rolls his eyes in frustration. “I’ve gotta get back,”

“Shawn,”

“Dad—I have to go,” He avers, removing the phone from his ear and preparing to hang it back on its hook until he hears something that makes him halt. He brings the phone back up to his ear, exhaling a trembling breath. “W-What did you just say?”

He’d heard him faintly, only hearing the end of his father’s sentence but that’s all he needed to be immediately drawn back into the conversation. Gus had emanated from his father’s mouth, it was a name that had solemnly become unrecognizable to him over the span of these few years. Just like his father, Shawn had ceased much of the communication with Gus as well; only sending emails, postcards and letters to him twice every month to fill him in on the current adventures in his life.

The strain in their friendship wasn’t intentional. Shawn escaped from Santa Barbara the day after graduating hoping to find some semblance of meaning in his life. His mother had just left and Gus was scheduled to leave for college afterwards, Shawn felt like he didn’t have a reason to stay in the place that took everyone he loved away from him. He’s thought about returning back, but he relented and succumbed to his fears of facing Gus again; knowing that it wouldn’t be easy to reconcile after leaving him for so long.

He hates himself for leaving like that; abrupt and impulsively, without even saying goodbye to Gus. He shudders at to think about what Gus thinks of him — how angry and upset and hurt he probably was to wake up the next morning and hear from his father that Shawn had left.

He’s never been good at goodbyes, he hates them. But he knows Gus at least deserved that.

There’s a lump that thickens and expands in his throat, his hands shake as he clutches the phone. He’s trying to settle his nerves but the pounding in his ears is so loud that it’s hard to hear what his fathers saying. He didn’t need to hear much because after the words “Gus” and “accident” were mentioned, Shawn was already hanging up the phone and untangling the knot from the apron that was tied around his waist. His hands were shaking so much that he fumbled with the knot, cursing loudly in frustration as he pulled and tugged at it.

He hears the heavy gait of footsteps approaching behind him that’s accompanied by the shrilly timbre of Thomas’ voice, “It’s been five minutes now, you need to get out there and…where do you think you’re going?” He questions, perching his hands akimbo as he watched Shawn toss the apron aside then hurriedly retreat to the break room.

He returns seconds later, his helmet and jacket in hand.

Shawn’s mind feels skewed; he’s panicking, can barely focus on anything at the moment and there are tears gathering in the back of his pupils blurring his vision. “I uh, I have to go. My best friend, he’s been in an accident and I have to go see him.” He shrugs his arms through the jacket, patting the right pocket and digging inside to retrieve his keys.

“Go?” Thomas inquired in bewilderment; completely apathetic at Shawn’s earlier sentiments. “We’re short staffed tonight and we don’t have anyone to cover your shift. You can’t go!”

And if Shawn wasn’t stretched on time and wasn’t desperately trying to hurry up to Gus he would’ve vehemently spewed a few derogatory remarks at Thomas for his lack of consideration and human decency. But instead, he only brushes past Thomas as he makes his abrupt departure out of the back door.

…

He’s certain that he’s broken every road law known to man; making illegal passings through lanes, squeezing past rows of cars stuck in traffic and accelerating the motorcycle to a speed he didn’t even know it could reach as he reeved up the gas and sped down the highway. He arrives outside of the hospital a few hours later, hurriedly turning off the ignition and climbing off of the bike after finding an empty parking space.

He takes off in a sprint towards the front entrance inadvertently pushing past a man that’s hobbling on a pair of crutches — who curses loudly at Shawn when he nearly loses his balance and stumbles clumsily.

“Jackass!” The man scolded; the screeching of his crutches dragging across the tiled floors ricochets throughout the room.

He absentmindedly disregards the man’s reprimand as he ran towards the nurse’s station. The woman behind the desk is occupied on the phone, alternating between typing on the keyboard of her computer and filing patient reports. When she looks up at notices Shawn, she holds her finger up in the air and murmurs “one moment,” before continuing her conversation.

Shawn’s impatience immediately wears thin, her conversation has been going on too long and she’s yet to bother acknowledging him again. He’s tempted to interrupt her conversation and demand that she attend to his needs, but he purses his lips in a thinned frown to prevent himself from projecting his anger onto her and continued to (im)patiently wait. After what felt like an eternity, the nurse’s conversation ends and she’s putting the phone back on its hook and greeting him in welcome.

“Hello, sir. How may I help you?”

“I need to see someone who was admitted a few hours ago; his name is Burton Guster. He was in an accident and I have to see him.”

The nurse nods as her fingers type deftly onto the keyboard again. “He’s still getting looked over so you’ll have to wait,” She informs him before directing him towards the waiting area.

Shawn slumps into one of the rigid-cushioned chairs, with his leg bouncing and his teeth nervously biting at his nails, he stares at the round clock that’s hung decoratively on the alabaster colored walls, heeding at the hands as they ticked with each passing minute.

He’s trying to focus: his mind repeats a litany of he’s okay, to distract himself from the possibilities that awaited. Gus is okay because he had to be — because Shawn knows that the universe wouldn’t punish him so cruelly like this, it wouldn’t take his best friend from him in such a macabre way. It wouldn’t do this knowing that Shawn hasn’t had a chance to apologize yet.

No.

Gus is okay.

He wouldn’t accept any other fate.

…

His ass has started to get numb from sitting in the chair for so long and his impatience starts withering again. It’s been nearly two hours already and there has yet to be any developments regarding Gus status. Shawn’s been getting up and walking to the nurses station every fifteen minutes asking if Gus had been moved out of surgery and into a room yet but every time she only tells him that she’s only allowed to disclose that information to immediate family. He understands that it’s hospital protocol and whatnot but he’s becoming more and more peeved.

He’s offered some sense of relief when he looks towards the front entrance and sees Mr. and Mrs. Guster trekking through the doors. The same worry and panic that paralyzed him was written all over their countenances as well, Mrs. Guster was sobbing as she held tightly onto her husband’s arm.

They exchange a few words with the nurse and before he knows it, he’s seeing the door towards the back being buzzed open.

Shawn hurriedly clambers to his feet and approaches the Gusters.

“Mr. and Mrs. G!” They both halt at the exclamation of their names, turning around to see who was seeking their attention. There’s a look of aghast when they see Shawn standing athwart from them.

“Shawn?” Mrs. Guster asks, voice gruff and scratchy from all of the crying she’d done. She brings the wad of tissue that was in her other hand, up to her red nose and dabs away the snot that spilled. “What are you doing here?”

He winces at the incredulity behind her words. It saddens him knowing that his parents are this surprised that he showed up. He knows he hasn’t been around much these past few years but surely they had to know that something as vital as this was going to incite haste Shawn’s return. But with the way they’re looking so perplexed at him, like he’s a stranger, instead of their son’s childhood best friend that they’ve known for years says otherwise.

(He’d dwell on this heartbreaking realization later. He had to make sure Gus was okay first.)

“My dad called and told me what happened. I came to see him. Did anyone tell you anything? Is-Is he okay?”

They share a brief look like they’re wary of disclosing the information to him. It fucking hurts that he’s suddenly become this outsider to them as if he wasn’t an intricate part of Gus’ life. He did leave but why did they act as if his existence hadn’t meant anything to them or Gus?

“He’s stable and awake,” Mr. Guster finally admits, thankfully easing Shawn’s concerns. “They said that it was okay to go see him,”

He nods, giving them a pleading look that begged them to allow him to accompany them to the back. Because he doesn’t know how much longer he can sit here waiting, and although he knows that they’ve assured him that Gus was safe, Shawn wouldn’t be fully content until he actually saw Gus and could confirm it himself.

Mr. Guster sighs, looking down at his wife before averting his eyes back onto Shawn. “You’re welcome to come back if you’d like.”

And that’s all he needed to hear before he’s following behind them as they lead the way down the corridor to Gus’ room.

Mrs. Guster approaches first, bringing her hand up midair and rapting a gentle knock against the door. A few seconds pass by before they hear a rasped, “Come in,” that she her pulling at the handle and swinging the door open.

Albeit relief calms him when he actually sees Gus, Shawn could also feel his throat baring and his eyes watering at the sight of Gus. It’s been four years and six months since he’s seen him; he still looked the same but his face has chiseled and he’s grown into his features. He’s got more hair since the last time Shawn’s seen him; hair that’s styled in a hightop boxed coif. Shawn sidestepped around Mrs. Guster and gauges a fuller view at Gus — he’s sprawled out on the small hospital bed, his legs are dangling off of the edge swallowing up the last inch of space that’s available. He’s got a thin wool blanket swathed across his lap, his arms wrapped in a cast that’s balanced on a small pillow that’s tucked underneath for leverage.

Gus is laid with his eyes fluttered close, nearly half dazed from the medication they fed him. Upon hearing the knocking and his mother’s loud sob of relief, he opens them, blinking rapidly trying to clear his fogged vision. He smiles sheepishly at his parents, but then his eyes wander behind them at Shawn and his smile is substituted for a moue, causing Shawn to recoil away slightly.

He lowers his eyes, abashed and chagrined, condemning himself for foolishly thinking Gus would be elated at his return.

“Shawn?” And it’s so pathetic but his breath hitches when he hears his name fall off of Gus’ lips, at the way he could practically hear the emotion through his tenor as he called out to him. It’s surprisingly tender and soft and Shawn can’t remember the last time he’s ever heard such affection in someone’s voice.

Maybe he hadn’t completely ruined things between them like he assumed.

He remains stood off to the side as the Guster’s bombarded their son with questions, inquiring about the accident and assessing his wounds. Gus repeatedly assured them that he was fine, stating that it was an accident that occurred after another car abruptly drove out into traffic. Shawn smiled adoringly as he watched as Gus’ mother attentively adjusted Gus’ pillows and maneuvered around the small room fixing things.

“Mom, I’m okay,” Gus reiterated for the fifth time that day after his mother tried to buzz a nurse in when Gus placed too much weight on his arm and yelped out in pain when he felt the throbbing pain shooting up his arm.

“It certainly didn’t sound like you’re okay!” She laments, frowning as her finger hovered over the big, red button, contemplating if she should defy against her son’s wishes and call for the nurse to look over him regardless of his asks.

“I just moved too quick that’s all. I promise.” She looked at him disbelieving, knowing that he was probably only saying that to alleviate her worries. Nonetheless, she conceded and had followed behind her husband when he led them out of the room to grab some coffee from the cafeteria.

When the Guster’s leave, it’s just him and Gus alone. Shawn’s still standing hovered by the doorway with his hands shoved inside the front pockets of his jeans and his eyes shyly meets Gus’. He wants to speak, to go over and throw his arms around Gus and tell him that he’s glad he’s okay, but he feels like his feet are cemented to the ground and his tongue feels so thick in his mouth that it causes his throat to dry and he’s suddenly struggling to form a coherent sentence.

It’s Gus that finally breaks the silence between them. He’s shifting on the bed again, trying to maneuver around to a more comfortable laying position and ends up inadvertently hitting his arm against the bed’s railing that has him wincing in pain again.

“I’m good,” He’s haste to assure Shawn whose eyes widened in worry and feet managed to miraculously find their strength to move as he was already at Gus’ bedside, reaching for his arm to help him. His hands quickly retract at Gus’ words and are being shoved back into his pockets again. Silence lingers between them again only briefly before Gus begins speaking again. “How’d you find out?” He murmurs softly in curiosity.

“My dad,”

Gus eyebrows furrow in an indiscernible gesture. He reaches forward, grabbing at the small cup full of ice water. “Right. Well, you didn’t have to come all the way back here. I’m sure you’re eager to go back to Washington or wherever you’re at now.” There’s no hostility or malice embedded in Gus’ words. It’s just a melancholic lilt that Shawn recognizes that has him guilt ridden and apologetic. His absence has made Gus think that he’s stopped caring for/about him when that was furthest from the truth.

“Gus—” He begins, but Gus is already interrupting him rebutting otherwise.

“It’s fine, Shawn. I’m okay. It’s just a broken arm, nothing serious.”

At this, Shawn guffaws in frustration because how could Gus trivialize this? He doesn’t know the sheer terror Shawn felt when he heard about the accident, how he was afraid that he would lose him and now here Gus was just brushing everything off in nonchalance and trying to push him away. And he tries not to but he does get angry with Gus, because how could he truly think that Shawn didn’t care about him?

“No, it’s not okay. I came here because I was worried about you, Gus. I was scared that you’d—” He shakes his head, swallowing down the remainder of that sentence. It was too painful to think let alone vocalize aloud. “I know that I haven’t been here but that doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you,”

He sees Gus’ mouth purse and his eyebrows furrow, like he’s contemplating on whether he actually believes Shawn’s words. He’s feeling defeated, already self deprecating at how he’d managed to single-handedly ruined the only stable relationship in his life.

He wouldn’t be Shawn if he didn’t fuck up good things.

But then, Gus is looking at him and his eyes soften as he murmurs, “Thanks for coming,”

…

Shawn stays in Santa Barbara for the rest of the week. He stays in a motel downtown, refusing his father’s offer to stay at home instead. That was one relationship he wasn’t as avid to reconcile with just yet, there was still unresolved issues that resided between them, issues that he held his father solely responsible for that he wasn’t ready to address.

He was here for Gus and wanted to focus on that not any other issues.

The first day, they’d caught up more with each other, telling the other everything that wasn’t mentioned in their emails or letters. It was bittersweet listening to Gus rave about his college experience, hearing about all the friends he’s made, all the things he’s done.

Shawn felt sad that he hadn’t been there with Gus to experience those things with. He remembers in middle school, they’d talk about all the parties they would go to whenever they got to college, how they’d be roommates (because they knew no one else could handle living either of them; Gus was too OCD and Shawn was messy and snored loudly, or at least that’s what he’s heard from Gus.) then graduate and get married and live next door to each other.

At the time of his departure, he didn’t consider his leaving as a blunder in their plan. He’d been too focused on running away from his problems to even think about that.

Gus then told him about a new job that he recently started as a pharmaceutical salesman that apparently paid more than all of Shawn’s minimum wage jobs combined. It paid enough for Gus to rent one of those luxury apartments with a gym and a pool that Shawn’s always wanted.

He was happy for Gus, really.

He was also really fucking sad that he missed out on so much.

On the second day, they spent the entire day playing board and card games — apparently time at college gave Gus enough time to learn how to gamble because he managed to beat Shawn in poker twice but Shawn redeemed himself in Monopoly and Candyland.

Shawn snuck in some Chinese takeout that they secretly ravished after Gus complained about the hospital food. The nurse stumbled in upon their slaughter and reprimanded them for it much to their amusement. Afterwards, they watched reruns of Three Stooges and it was so ridiculous and overly cartoonish in its comedy but they laughed at every single joke.

Gus ended up succumbing to his exhaustion a little later in the night, laying with his head tucked on the pillow as he breathed softly through his parted lips. Shawn looked over at Gus and felt his heart clench as he inwardly pondered how he could ever reconcile with the fact that he’d willingly gone four years without his best friend, without the person he cared for the most in the entire world.

It’s a question he thinks he’ll never be able to answer.

On the third day, things between them become familiar and normal. It starts to feel like they’re Shawn and Gus again as a whole not as separates anymore and Shawn doesn’t think he’s ever been happier than he is right now.

On the fourth day is when Shawn realizes a few things. They’re in Gus’ room again and he’s finally being discharged after being cooped up in the fight fitted room and barely surviving off of watered down meatloaf and stale bread for nearly a week. Shawn’s in the room, skimming through a magazine waiting for Gus to finished getting dressed so that they could go out into the front while they waited for his parents, when he hears the bathroom door being pulled open.

“Shawn?” He looks up to see Gus’ head poked out of the door, his expression flushed as his chest heaved. “I need your help. I’m trying to finish getting ready but this damn cast makes everything harder.”

Shawn set the magazine down as he clambered to his feet. “Are you sure you want my help because you wouldn’t even take off your shirt in front of me when we used to go swimming,” He teases lightheartedly, smiling at the flustered expression in Gus’ face as he says this.

“That was different. I was younger and still getting used to my developing body. Just come in here!” He avers, grabbing Shawn’s arm and tugging him into the bathroom as he closes the door behind them.

It’s not like he was staring per se, but he’d certainly taken heed at Gus body. He was standing in the middle of the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that complimented him fittingly, the material snug around his hips. He’d apparently started working out during some time in between his adolescence and early adulthood because Gus now had abs that were chiseled and taut; and when he turned around to pick up his shirt that had fallen to the floor, Shawn could see the muscles in his back flex as he moved.

His eyes appreciatively gauge at Gus’ seemingly fit physique wondering when the hell did that happen.

Shawn hurriedly averts his eyes, managing to look away just before Gus turns back around to face him. “I thought it wouldn’t be so bad with a broken arm but this fucking sucks,” He complains, extending the shirt out to Shawn who hikes up the hem and shimmies it over Gus’ head, tugging it down and over his torso.

He ignores the flutter in his stomach when his fingers brush over Gus’ stomach.

“Do you need me to stay over and help you for a while?” He offers, his mind only briefly wanders back on his job knowing that he would probably be unemployed by the time he returns which meant that Tijuana was going to be postponed for the time being but staying with Gus was worth it.

Gus smiles sheepishly, looking over at Shawn. “Thanks, but I know you’re probably ready to go back to Las Vegas.”

Shawn pulls the shirt all the way down over Gus’ abdomen, frowning a bit at his words. “No, I mean I’m not in a rush to go back. I can stay, I want to stay here for you if you need me.”

Please need me.

“Are you planning on seeing your dad?” Gus posits in curiosity, seemingly subverting the topic of conversation so quickly that it has Shawn wondering why Gus was so hesitant in letting him stay over. He knows that it’s still going to take some time to fully get all of Gus’ trust back but he thought that these past few days were showing some progress.

“Uh, no. I think it’s best if we stay away from each other for the time being.”

“It’s been four years. How much longer do you need?” Gus rebuttals; and okay, maybe he’s right but his relationship with his father was complicated and definitely something that he didn’t want to talk or think about right now.

Gus sighs, “The only reason I ask is because I’ve seen him around Shawn. As much as you think he doesn’t like you, he seems pretty miserable to me that you’re gone.”

Shawn guffaws softly at this, “Yeah, right.” He murmurs disbelieving, reminiscing on the fight they’d had the night before he left home where Henry explicitly said that he couldn’t wait until Shawn left because then he wouldn’t have to deal with the headache of him being around anymore. “He doesn’t miss me, Gus. He’s glad that I’m gone, trust me.”

Gus only shakes his head before eventually dropping the conversation, knowing that it was futile in trying to convince Shawn of otherwise. “Alright…this might be a little more complicated and uncomfortable,” He surmises, nudging his chin outwardly towards the pair of sweatpants that his mother had packed for him.

Shawn grabbed the sweatpants and stood in front of Gus. He extended the sweatpants out, making it easy for Gus to slide a leg in each pant leg. Gus nearly tumbles and instinctively reaches a hand out, resting it onto Shawn’s waist to anchor his fall. “Sorry,” Gus murmurs, fitting his other leg into the pant leg.

Shawn tugged at the waistband, pulling it further up Gus’ legs when he’s gotten them both all the way in the sweats. His fingers inadvertently brush against Gus’ cock when he’s adjusting the sweatpants around his waist and he feels his face immediately blush in a deep crimson color. He gauges a quick look up at Gus, peeking at him underneath the wisps of his eyelashes — Gus is looking up at the ceiling, biting on his lower lip as he avoided Shawn’s gaze.

“Sorry, I was—”

“No it’s—”

“—I wasn’t trying to—”

“—Shawn—”

“Gus!” Both Shawn and Gus pause at the shrilly shriek of someone calling out his name. They exchange confused looks until realization dawns upon Gus who’s now using his freehand to roughly pull his pants up the remainder of the way. He’s reaching for the doorknob and is making a haste egress seconds later, walking out to greet the approaching woman.

Shawn follows behind Gus out of the bathroom, barely making it halfway into the room before he’s blindsided with the sight of Gus and a woman kissing vehemently in the middle of the room. Gus has his arm around her waist while she’s got her hands on his face, pulling him closer as their kisses became more feverish. “What are you doing here?!” Gus asks, his sentences barely coherent between the woman’s kisses.

“You didn’t think I was going to not come see you, did you?!” She mutters, pecking his lips thrice before eventually pulling away to look him over. “Aw, my poor baby,” She coos, brushing her thumb over his cheek as he leans into her touch.

Shawn stood there quietly watching their embrace. Throughout the entire duration of the past few days, Gus has never once mentioned having a girlfriend or dating anyone. So, it’s a little surprising to see him with someone like this, holding and kissing her so affectionately. He harrumphed softly, capturing their attention because they’d gotten so enraptured in each other that they nearly forgot about his presence.

The woman peers over Gus’ shoulder and looks at Shawn. She smiles, wide and toothy, bringing her hand mid-air as she gestures a wave. “Hi, I’m Mira!”

The first impression of her is that she’s unnecessarily cheery (he knows he sounds like a grinch saying this, but how can someone be this enthusiastic all of the time even he has his limits and often broods to balance it all out.)

Shawn waves back, thinning his lips into a feeble smile. “Shawn,” His eyes linger downward to Gus’ hand as it descends to her lower backside. She giggles, playfully nudging at his shoulder before shifting her attention back into Shawn.

“Shawn! Do you want to see the ring my pookiebear Gus got for me?” She gasps, already making her way over towards him much against Gus’ dismay as he reaches for her to attempt to stop her with hushed exclaims of ‘no, no, no, Mira!’ but she maneuvers out of his reach and saunters up to Shawn, holding her hand up in the air and displaying a small diamond ring that’s decorating her finger. “He got it for me after the wedding. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Shawn looks up at Gus who gives him an apologetic smile and only shrugs in response.

His mind couldn’t even begin to fathom the fact that Gus is married. Not only did he neglect to mention the fact that he’d been dating, but that he liked the woman enough to marry her as well at a wedding that he didn’t receive an invitation to or have any knowledge about. Or the painful realization of Gus apparently not wanting Shawn to know about it either from the way he tried to stop Mira from telling him about it.

Shawn couldn’t believe that this is what their friendship looked like now; hidden secrets and minimal communication between them.

If you would’ve told younger Shawn that he would end up losing Gus as a friend when they’re older, he would laughed in your face at the ridiculous absurdity of that comment. Adult Shawn isn’t laughing, he’s heartbroken and upset. He swallows the thick lump that’s stuck in his throat, nodding his head as she masqueraded his heartbreak behind a false smile.

“Yeah, it’s, it’s really great.”

Mira giggles again before practically skipping her way back over to Gus, “Are you almost ready to go? I told your mom we’d go by the house for dinner tonight since she let me pick you up instead,”

He nods, “Yeah. I just have to sign a few discharge papers first.”

Mira nodded as she grabbed Gus’ duffle bag and slung the straps over her shoulder. “I’ll go take this to the car,” She informs him, pressing one last kiss on his lips before departing from the room.

When she’s gone, Gus turns to Shawn. “Sorry about Mira, I know she can be a little eccentric and an acquired taste to some people,”

That’s one way to put it. Shawn ruminates haughtily. “She seems nice. Where’d you two meet?”

“In Mexico last year. I was on spring break; me and a couple of friends took a trip down there for a few days. I met her at a bar, we got drunk and next thing I know were at a chapel with a donkey as my best man.”

“Wow. That sounds very…unlike you,” Shawn laments and Gus frowns a bit at this furrowing his brows. He knows he can’t argue against it because he knows Shawn’s right; Gus wasn’t as adventurous and spontaneous enough to do something like elope with some woman he barely knows. That wasn’t his Gus.

“Yeah, well.”

“And I’m assuming that your parents don’t know either? Because knowing your mother she’d probably have a heart attack if she found out that you eloped instead of having a traditional wedding,”

At this, Gus only smacks his teeth instead of answering with a verbal response which tells Shawn that he’s right. “Thanks for visiting and for staying here with me. I’m gonna head out. I’ll see you around, Shawn.”

…

It’s been two days since he’s last seen Gus. He’s been trying to give him time to settle in after the accident before going to confront him but Shawn had grown exasperated of waiting.

He needed to talk to Gus now, before it’s too late to salvage what’s left of their tainted relationship. He doesn’t know Gus’ new address to his apartment but he remembers Mira mentioning them staying at Gus’ parents house so he chances that as where he was in hopes that it would be true.

He drives through the city, making his way to his childhood neighborhood. He peers over at his house and notices his dad’s truck parked in the driveway, he looks away and drives up to the Guster’s house instead, parking his motorcycle on the side as he cut off the engine. He takes off the helmet and sets it on the rest before making his way up the driveway. Reaching the front porch, he brings his hand up and knocks on the door then stands there waiting patiently for someone to answer.

He’s standing there for a few moments before he finally hears the sound of the door unlocking. He’s relieved to see that it’s Gus who answers the door, but confusion stretches across Gus’ features when he sees Shawn standing there. Nonetheless, he pulls the door open and steps aside allowing Shawn entrance.

“I thought you would’ve been back in Vegas by now,”

Shawn shakes his head as he walks into the living room. He stands there waiting and watching as Gus locked the door then followed behind him. “No, still here. I came by because,” He shakes his head, sighing softly, “we gotta talk man. Everything’s weird and wrong between us.”

Gus folded his arms across his chest, “What do you mean?”

He wants to scream at Gus’ blatant obliviousness because how couldn’t he feel them drifting further apart? Was Shawn the only one who missed the closeness between them? Had his absence inadvertently pushed Gus away and into the arms of Mira instead, where she’s been acting as a temporary replacement in his life? All of his emotions are scattered around and has him beginning to panic. Did Gus really not care that they weren’t best friends anymore?

Running his hands through his hair, Shawn emanates a deep suspire. “I mean this, us!” He gestures a hand between them, continuing with his spiel. “It’s like I want to try to rekindle things with us but you’re pushing me away. We don’t talk. We don’t hang out, you didn’t even want me to know that you were married! I just don’t get how we went from best friends to now being strangers but I hate it because I miss you, Gus.”

“We aren’t strangers, people just change, Shawn.” He doesn’t know how many times he can keep hearing this. This trivialization that Gus is doing is infuriating him profusely. “And we aren’t as close as we were because you decided to leave. It’s kinda what you do. So, excuse me if I’m a little reluctant to let you back into my life,” Gus laments with a halfhearted shrug, that has Shawn’s heart closing in on itself.

Gus’ feelings were fair but couldn’t he see that Shawn was at least trying?

“I’m trying—”

“You don’t need to Shawn. It’s pointless. You’ll be gone again probably for longer next time and we’ll just be right back where we started.”

Shawn blinks, a little hurt by Gus’ apropos. “So that’s it? You don’t even want to try?”

Gus sighs, lowering his eyes as he shakes his head. “Shawn… Mira’s coming over any second now and—”

“I don’t care about Mira! I care about you and us,”

Gus scoffs, rolling his eyes at Shawn’s sentiments. “If you cared you wouldn’t have left me for four years! It took me being in a hospital to get you back here! And now you’re what? Trying to make up for abandoning me, that’s so like you.” His words are venomous as they emanate from his mouth and Shawn’s taken aback by the visceral haughtiness of it. They’ve argued before but it’s never been to this extent, never this real and scary.

“I abandoned you? You were abandoning me first! You couldn’t wait to leave here and go to college to meet all your new friends,” Shawn rebuttals, unable to contain the emotions that’s been stewing inside of him.

Prior to his leaving, he remembers the solemn feeling he felt when he would hear Gus raving about college, how excited he was to meet new people. All Shawn could think about was how easily his existence was going to be erased from Gus’ life the moment he met new people, how he and Santa Barbara would become a distant memory as he progressed into this new stage in his life.

Sure, it would only have been a few hours away, but he and Gus had never been separated before and his worries had gotten the better of him so he left because of his fear of losing Gus and because he’d already lost his mother.

“Don’t do that. Because I was only going a few hours away, you left the state! You didn’t even say goodbye you just left me Shawn! And you didn’t even have the decency of calling for a year afterwards.”

Shawn lowers his eyes, abashed. “It was too hard. I didn’t — I couldn’t—”

Gus throws his hand in the air in defeat, baffled by Shawn’s capability of turning this situation around and perceiving it like he was the one that got left instead of Gus. It’s always been this back and forth but Gus had grown tired of it; of sheltering his emotions when it came to Shawn.

“It couldn’t have possibly been that hard because you stayed away for four years,”

“You think it was easy being away from you?” Shawn accosts incredulously.

There’s no way Gus could even begin to fathom how hard it’s been, how much it’s killed him not being around. None of this has been easy, especially not now standing here and listening to Gus express his feelings of abandonment after he left. He wanted to make things right or at least try but Gus was adamant in his stubbornness, setting these walls that has Shawn kept at a distance.

His throat’s clicking and he can feel his pupils welding with solemn tears again. “I wanted to come back to you but I’ve been afraid of this, of you pushing me away. I don’t know what to do to prove to you how fucking sorry I am but I am, Gus. Please. I can’t deal with you hating me like this,” He begs so pathetic and desperate that Shawn barely recognizes his own voice.

“I don’t hate you, Shawn,” Gus clarifies; and for a brief moment, Shawn thinks that maybe they’ll be okay, that their friendship hadn’t completely demised like he assumed. But then, “I just don’t trust you anymore and I can’t have someone in my life that I can’t trust.” And he feels his heart plummeting to his feet as defeat and despair mulls over him.

…

On Saturday, he returns to Vegas.

He has to beg Thomas for his job back, picking up double shifts for the next two weeks to make up for walking out. He doesn’t go to Tijuana but instead drives down to Texas with a few guys he met at the restaurant who were heading there for a festival.

#shawn and gus #psych fanfiction #shawngus #dule hill #james roday rodriguez #fanfic #psych usa #writing more on a03 #decided to publish this bc it’s so angsty #angst #tumblr post #shawn x gus #burton guster #shawn spencer #writing psych fics in 2023 #unserious but oh well #hyper fixating on them again #send help #babies

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