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Shawn knew from the very start that Lassie was innocent. It is obvious to anybody that knows him that he is not the kind to kill- even if Shawn can't help but make remarks about him and tease him, or when he gets frustrated in the field- he would never kill someone unless he had to. But, even when Shawn is teasing Lassie, it is never with malice- to rile him up? yeah, sometimes, but that's just because he likes Lassie's face when he gets annoyed- because Lassie is a good guy and an even better cop. So it doesn't take a (fake) psychic to know he is innocent.
What he hadn't known from the start, what he now really wishes he knew from the start, was that Drimmer isn't innocent. Now, sitting in Lassie's apartment with a throbbing head after being knocked out and taken and a gun to his head, he really wishes he had caught on sooner. Seriously, the guy was working with Juliet for Pete's sake! He could have hurt her or more. He hates that he didn't see the bigger picture right away, and he knows he is going to hate it a lot more once Drimmer finally does pull that trigger.
Problem is: Shawn had not considered it to be someone on the SBPD. Not really. Not properly. Especially not the odd but big goofy friendly guy that brought in cupcakes and acted all polite. He should have though. It isn't like Shawn to underestimate people, to not examine every single impossible lead. He normally never lets himself slip up on cases like these- especially not with his friend's (yes, he considers Lassie is friend, he isn't particularly proud of it) careers on the line. God, his dad is gonna kill him. Well, if Drimmer doesn't get there first. Unfortunately, the gun that Drimmer is fiddling with in his hand convinces him that the latter is more likely to end his life first.
He had mentioned to his dad that he thought it was an inside job, and (even when his dad explicitly told him that he wasn't to pursue it) he had stuck to that. He simply hadn't explored multiple people as opposed to the guy that had it out for Lassie. He found a suspect and set his sights on that. Why had he not thought of Drimmer? Why? It's driving him more and more insane as time drags on.
And now Lassie is coming. God damn it, Lassie is coming. It wasn't like Shawn had any choice in sending that text to lure Lassie back over, what with there being a gun to his head and all that, but it still makes his insides curl up. Though, to be fair, Shawn also hadn't wanted to be punched super hard in the face. If anything, all he wanted was to get some peanuts for his dad, Gus, and he. Was that so much to ask for? A couple peanuts? Instead, he had bumped into Drimmer on his 'run', and hadn't been subtle enough when he noticed the ink marks on his finger tips. Normally, Shawn is way better at hiding his revelations. But not good enough for Drimmer- it makes sense, he is one of the best detectives. Instead, what did he get? He got a sucker punch to the face that promptly knocked him out and woke up on Lassie's sofa.
Even with all his snide remarks, jokes, and pointing out the obvious of Drimmer's case, Shawn is terrified. He has been in danger dozens of times before and yet this time feels different. This time Lassie is also going to be in danger just because Shawn didn't crack his case sooner. So, sat on Lassie's sofa, cheek already swelling from the punch, no back up, nobody knowing his whereabouts, and an unknowing Lassie walking to his death, Shawn can't help the fear that slivers up his back.
"Spencer get your feet off my table!" Lassie orders as soon as he enters the apartment, entirely unaware of Drimmer hiding behind the door holding his gun. "And how the hell did you get in my place?" He demands, walking towards him. Shawn keeps his legs up on the table, arms folded, as his gaze drifts to Drimmer that has now stepped forward and pointed the gun at Lassie. Shawn feels his gut sink as Lassie turns in confusion and finally sees Drimmer.
"Drimmer?!"
--
Carlton didn't know what to expect when he rushed to his apartment to see what the hell Spencer meant by 'a break in the case', but it certainly wasn't to see Spencer's feet on his nice table and Drimmer holding up a gun. "I can't believe you thought that text was actually from me!" Spencer complains, and he quickly notices the big swelling patch of red on his cheek- Drimmer must have knocked him out or something. It twists Carlton's stomach at the thought of it, at the thought of the annoying psychic getting injured over him. "It lacked all nuance, my signature mocking tone, and it was utterly devoid of emoticons!" Spencer points out, and suddenly Lassie is angry that he hadn't found it odd to receive a normal text from the so-called-psychic. Why did he not stop and think?!
Leave it to Spencer to still make annoying comments in a time like this though, he supposes as he resists the urge to once again tell him to take his feet off of his table- there are probably more important things to focus on right now. For example, the gun that Drimmer is holding with a smug grin on his face. "Why?" he manages to ask through gritted teeth, staring down the man that only earlier that day he had thought to just be his annoying temporary replacement with his partner.
"Because he's in business with Cinco Reyes, and when you brought in Chavez, business hours were over, Sweetheart." Spencer answers on behalf of Drimmer, and Carlton is instantly mentally reviewing every single interaction he has had with the gang unit and Drimmer. He should have seen this coming; he is the best detective in the SBPD, he should have noticed the pig that was right under his nose. "I just became Kojak." Spencer observes, to which he ignores and refocuses on Drimmer.
"I always knew that there was something off about you Drimmer, but I didn't figure you for dirty. You are one lowlife, scum-suckin' bastard, aren't you?" He smirks as he speaks, saying what he knows always tends to get under criminals ski-
"I know how this works, Lassiter." He stops smirking pretty quickly. "Tryna throw me off with one of your stupid little insults. Uh-uh." Damn it! It's always tougher when it's with cops: they understand other police tactics and therefore you need to work outside the box with them. Sounds like Drimmer's revised and done his research on Carlton. "Well, fellas, might as well get on with it." Drimmer lifts a pad of paper and pen, gesturing to the both of them as he drops it on the table. "What's that?". Deep down, he already knows the answer, he just doesn't want to believe it. Spencer leans forward to inspect the paper as Drimmer confirms his worst fears, "That's your suicide note."
Shit.
Spencer scoffs in what's either disbelief, defeat, or disappointment. "It explains how Spencer psychically figured out that it was you." Drimmer elaborates, the gun still trained directly at Carlton's chest. How the hell is he gonna get out of this? Most of all, how will he get Spencer out of this alive? "I believe the term you're looking for is 'divined'." Spencer cockily corrects in a way that always grinds Carlton's gears and makes him threaten to hit him. Still, he never actually hurts Spencer, he wouldn't do that to him. Whether he likes it or not- no matter how much the 'psychic' annoys him- he has undoubtedly rooted himself in their team and in Carlton's life. Even if he'll never admit it aloud, he obviously cares for him and considers him to be one of the only people he trusts (aside from when Spencer is busy lying about being psychic).
It seems like Drimmer doesn't share the self control to not hit Spencer when he makes comments that Lassie does. He whacks his gun over Spencer's head, hitting him directly in the back. Carlton only just manages to stop himself from leaping forward, angrily bearing his teeth and slowly clenching his fists in a contained rage. Making sudden movements and doing stupid things will only further endanger Spencer. "Ow!" Spencer yells, clenching the back of his head in pain. Drimmer resumes his earlier position of holding the gun up to him as if nothing ever happened. As if he hadn't just pistol-whipped Spencer ruthlessly. "Spencer 'divined'," he gestures to where Spencer is still clutching at his head in muffled pain, "it was you who killed Chavez and Loggins, and he was gonna go to the chief with it. So you shot him." Every single time that Carlton has been publicly been rude or hurtful to Spencer starts to feel like a bad idea now because it makes the idea of him killing Spencer that much more believable.
"You two being former lovers and all, you were overwhelmed with guilt." Drimmer adds in. God, the unoriginality of it all. Former lovers? Him and Spencer? That's crazy, right? They would never be a couple. Right? "Former lovers? Really?!" Spencer exclaims without looking up from the sofa. He can't bear glance at the man with fear of his poker face slipping, so he continues to stare Drimmer dead in the face. This is all his fault. Why on Earth did Spencer have to get involved? This is between he and Drimmer. "Called misinformation, he's hoping they won't look to close." Carlton clarifies, trying to keep his voice as guilt-free and fear-free as possible for Spencer. He doesn't need the man to know that he thinks this will end with them dying an unfortunate death.
Spencer makes what sounds like a joke but it comes out as more of a groan that's too difficult to decipher.
"You are one sick twist, Drimmer." He's throwing every tactic in the book at Drimmer at this point, just desperate to rattle him enough to think of a plan. But nothing is working, Drimmer is too smart, he has thought it through far too well. The scumbag breaks into a grin, "I know." And then he points the gun at Spencer and-
"Woah, woah, wait! Wait! Wait!" Seems like Spencer is trying every trick he can too. It still feels all in vain. "Just wait. I think I'm getting something- I'm sensing something!" he puts his fingers to his temple like he always does when he's faking a vision. He doesn't miss the way his face contorts in pain as he gingerly presses his head. "I'm sensing something wild!" It doesn't take two detectives to know he is grasping at straws as he tries to stutter out something. He continues to try and pull some bull from his ass, but that isn't working either.
"Do you ever stop talking?" Drimmer yells, only further enraging Carlton. He dives for one of his hidden guns, but Drimmer stops him in an instant with a 'bup-bup-bup'. He goes on to explain that he cleared out all of Carlton's spare pistols that he has stored around the apartment. God. He has thought of everything and they're both pulling up short. As a last resort that will likely end up with a bullet through his head, he slowly starts to approach Drimmer unarmed anyway, praying that Spencer will psychically know what he's doing (even though he definitely knows that he isn't a real psychic). Well, psychic or not, it works. Even being concussed, Spencer somehow knows what he's thinking. Drimmer is too busy yelling at Carlton to stop approaching him that he isn't prepared when Spencer lunges forward to wrestle for the gun in his hand.
But, just as he goes to grab the one gun he knows the police won't have found, a shot fires. A body thuds to the ground.
Oh.
oh.
His fingers close around his gun hidden in the bowl of nuts that Drimmer hadn't located and he pulls the butt of his gun down on Drimmer's head and pulls away Drimmer's gun just as he watches Spencer crumple to the floor in agony. He keeps his gun pointed at a disorientated Drimmer while he kneels down at Spencer's side. Once he's established that Drimmer won't be getting up anytime soon, he plants his own gun in his holster and places Drimmer's a safe couple inches away that ensures he won't be able to reach them without Carlton detaining him first.
"Spencer? You hear me?" He doesn't mean to yell, but he needs to get the man's unfocused eyes on him. Blood spills into his hands- Spencer's blood spills into his hands- as he tries his best to apply pressure. "Wha'? Lass?" he slurs out, face already starting to drain of colour. God damn it! Drimmer, even in the heat of the moment, aimed well. He's losing too much blood. He yanks off his jacket and rips away Spencer's to use it as a bandage. He should have called for backup beforehand. Even though he didn't know about Drimmer, he should have known Spencer well enough to acknowledge the difference in his texts. Overall, he should have just known better. That's why he is the best detective, right? He figures stuff out. But not this. He didn't figure this out and now Spencer is bleeding our from under his hands.
"You maki' a 'antage?" He asks, and Carlton's brain is too distracted to wonder if Spencer is being some form sarcastic or is simply suffering from brain fog from being violently punched and pistol whipped. He mumbles an apology as Spencer cries out in pain when he tightens the shirts around his abdomen. "You mean a bandage, Spencer? If so, yes." He asks, just to keep the man talking. Drimmer is slowly starting to come to again, but Carlton doesn't care, "I've heard it both ways." The recurring joke catches Carlton too off guard for him to contain his chuckle. How does Spencer still make jokes like this as he dies- no, not dies, he's going to be fine, totally fine- in the middle of his apartment?
Spencer tries to grin, but it quickly turns to a grimace and groan. "You find me funny." he observes through eyes clenched shut as he tries desperately to pull away at Carlton's firm pressure on the wound. He hates that he's putting him in pain by pressing down, but it's better than him dying of blood loss. Carlton glances around, eyes landing on his bathroom door- where his medkit is located. "Just don't tell anyone" he retaliates for what he thinks is the first time since he met Spencer. It makes the man chuckle even more, which only doubles his pain as he squirms in agony. "I'll be right back, okay? Just..." he glances at Drimmer, who still looks out-of-it, and then back at a quickly fading Shawn.
He snatches up Shawn's phone and, in one quick message to Juliet O'Hara reading: "Lassiter place, drimmer, spencer shot, backup, help, now.", tosses the phone back onto the sofa. Even if it's short and vague, at least it will be immediately clear what he needs. Back up will arrive soon. It has to. Besides, he can't waste time explaining the full story over text as Spencer gets worse and worse. He legs it to the bathroom, scouring through the drawers until his hands finally land on his medkit.
His eyes scan it to double check that he has everything he wants. But, as soon as his eyes land on the bandages and gauze and anything that he might possibly need, he hears a harrowing scream. A scream that he knows as soon as he hears it that it will forever be burned into his brain. A scream that he instantly knows belongs to none other than Shawn Spencer. And a scream that he only knows can be sourced from agonising pain.
Still clutching onto the medkit, he sprints back into the living room. He's met with the sight of Drimmer's hands closed around Spencer's neck, his makeshift bandage of shirts torn away, and blood spilling on the floor as Spencer desperately tries to reach for a gun that he had made sure was out of reach while he gags and gasps for air. Carlton doesn't even need to throw himself at them because, in a blink of the eye, the door is kicked open and O'Hara shoots Drimmer on the spot. His body limply thuds ontop of Shawn, who is now entirely pale with eyes mere slits. Carlton drags his body away and gets O'Hara to cuff him before he even realises that Henry Spencer has stormed in and is now using his med-kit to help Shawn until the ambulance arrives.
"You brought his Dad?" He hisses at his partner straight after he thanks her and compliments her for arriving so soon. Juliet shrugs with a guilty expression when Gus follows Henry in and gasps loudly at the sight. "Oh come on, I told them to stay downstairs! They wouldn't listen!" she tries to excuse before he can even allow his fury to escape. He gives her a look that doesn't warrant him to verbally demand her to bring them down, she just instantly does it. Juliet reluctantly and gently guides Gus out and then, with a hell of a lot more struggle, gets Henry to at least back up to the door. Carlton steps in his place.
"You'll be alright, Shawn, I promise. I've got you, okay?" He doesn't know if Spencer is even aware of his soothing words behind his glazed-over eyes. "I'm here." he says again, this time more in comfort of himself. Sirens fill the air. Spencer's pulse- while present- is barely there. "You're so close, okay? Just hold on." He normally wouldn't be caught dead saying stuff like this to Spencer, but there's so much on the line that it all goes out the window. After re-bandaging the gunshot wound as best as he can, and ignoring the sickly red finger-shaped marks that pain his throat, he places one hand under his head- feeling a bump from the whack already forming- and lifts it slightly as if that will do any help while his other hand locks in Spencer's. All annoyance he's ever had with the man drains from his body because, looking down at him as he desperately clings onto life, all he can think about is that he can't lose him.
He only remembers that Henry is there when floods of paramedics and police arrive and he hears the man rattle off all the information to the paramedics that rush Spencer onto a gurney and rush him away. Henry and Spencer disappear into the ambulance and drive away with Guster following in his little blue car before Carlton can even process what's happening. So, he sits there, in the middle of his living room, sat in a pool of Shawn Spencer's blood with his hands tinted red.
At some point, he isn't sure when, Juliet is kneeling down beside him and wiping away tears he hadn't even known he'd shed. She whispers that everything will be okay, that Shawn will be okay, but Carlton can hear the shaking in her own voice. Everything isn't okay. Nothing is okay because Shawn is on his way to the hospital, barely alive, all because he hadn't been better prepared, all because he had asked Spencer and Guster for help.
"Let's go back to the station, Vick will want you to make a statement." O'Hara says as she slowly pulls him to his feet. Carlton feels numb and remains in silence the entire drive to the station. He can see swarms of police surrounding his place as they pull away, and there's no doubt that he'll be crashing on the 'Pysch' sofa a little while longer. O'Hara makes no attempts at talking either, she doesn't even play her favourite pop radio station that she normally does.
Spencer's blood as already dried into the nook and crevice's of Carlton's hands. He doesn't bother trying to scrub it off his hands nor his clothes- well, not his clothes, it's Spencer's shirt that he's wearing, so he supposes it's fitting that it's Spencer's bloods that stain it- so he just makes a beeline for Chief Vick's office. He can see the gears turning in her head, watch the way her face pales when Juliet explains what's happening.
"Alright, take your time, Lassiter. Just...I need a recap of events." Chief requests, note pad at the ready. He appreciates that she personally is taking the statement as opposed to some newbie cop that just wants the credit for being able to talk about the dirty cop of the SBPD. He can see the fear and worry etched into Karen's face, and it makes him realise just how much the fake psychic really means to the entire department.
"I got a text from Spencer's phone at approximately fifteen past nine at night. He requested me to meet him at my place due to a break in the case. Upon reflection, it's clear that the text wasn't from him. I arrived at my place with the sight of Spencer on my coach with a large mark across his cheek, from which I was able to gather he was brought there against his will. I then saw Drimmer, who had a gun pointed at the two of us. Spencer explained that Drimmer was on Cinco Reyes' payroll and that he took Chavez out in order to stop it being known that he was working with them. Drimmer then informed us that we were to write our own suicide note. While explaining the plan, he did pistol whip Spencer in the back of his head. He said: 'Spencer divined that I killed Chavez and wanted to go to the Chief with it. So, I shot him. What with us being former loves and all, I was riddled with guilt, and killed myself.' Just as he was about to shoot Spencer in the head, Spencer managed to stall enough for me to grab my gun. But, when they were wrestling for Drimmer's gun, Drimmer shot Spencer in the abdomen. I managed to knock Drimmer out with the butt of my gun and proceeded to try stop the bleeding from his wound. I ran to the bathroom to get the first aid kit but returned to Drimmer choking out Spencer. O'Hara kicked the door down and shot him through the shoulder."
He keeps all emotion out of his voice, repeating it like it's a paragraph that he has memorised. It's the only way he can recount the story without cracking under the emotion of everything that has happened. He didn't expect O'Hara to well up beside him as he spoke, and it only makes his chest ache more when he thinks. He does his best to comfort her, slivering his arm around her shoulder as silent tears roll down her face. Chief Vick scribbles down every single word that he says with precision, focusing intently even when her hand starts to shake when he goes into further details about the damage.
"Thank you, Lassiter. Do you- um..." she gestures to the blood that has seeped into his hands and clothes. He remains seated, looking over the notes on Vick's piece of paper. He continues to read it and reread it until it starts to look fuzzy. "Carlton." O'Hara whispers, nudging his arm. "Let's go. We can head to the hospital." She offers, finally snapping him from his daze. He nods, wordlessly raising to his feet. "Chief." he nods politely, shaking her hand. She grimaces as soon as the blood wipes off onto her own hand, but too much exhaustion and guilt is already wearing him down to apologise.
Instead of utter silence, the two of them repeat different variations of "he'll be okay" or "this will be fine".
--
It's been a week and a half since the incident. Spencer- cocky and stubborn as always- is yet to wake up. It's driving Carlton insane. Why does he have to be like this? Even in a coma, he's managing to creep on every single one of Carlton's nerves. To be honest, it's the most 'Spencer' thing to do. Whenever he isn't working at the station, he's sitting by Spencer's side. He reads him all the cases that he's working on, updates him on the Drimmer case, and gives him updates about everyone in the station, just in case there's a chance that Spencer can hear him.
Gus and Henry file in whenever they have the time, but Gus has been trying to keep the Psych Office tidy and throw himself into his work. Henry Spencer seems to be trying to busy himself with household chores or whatever he can without thinking about his son in hospital. Juliet and Vick come by whenever they are able to do so, but it's tough with the workload that they are dealing with. Over the years, Shawn became more of an integral part in the in the team than they had realised.
Still, it's Carlton that is there every second of every day that he can. Because, the last time that he left Spencer vulnerable, he was choked almost to death. And that is Carlton's fault. In retrospect, most of this is Carlton's fault, if not all of it. If he hadn't came to the Psych Office and asked for help, then they would have just annoyed Vick into signing their cheque and stayed home to watch cable. Instead, Carlton had gotten desperate enough into asking the objectively-smart partners for help. If he hadn't done that, they wouldn't have been up late at the Psych Office to try piece together shredded documents. Spencer wouldn't have left by himself to get nuts for him, Gus, and Henry Spencer. He wouldn't have bumped into Drimmer, knocked out, and taken to his apartment. All of it happened just because he wanted help.
Even with the dozens of reassurances he's been receiving, he can't wash away the guilt that stains his hands.
--
It is at day fifteen when he does wake up. The doctors said that it had taken awhile for him to wake up due to complications with shards of the bullet left inside the wound. Carlton's dozing lazily on the chair when it happens. The moment he meets Spencer's slightly unfazed eyes, he shoots up in his awkwardly-shaped hospital chair and smooths his hair over, clearing his throat.
He coughs, "Morning, Spencer." It isn't like Spencer is aware that it's three o'clock in the afternoon. "You, uh, took your time." Carlton says, glancing down at the messy files on his table. Spencer moves to sit up, but hisses out in pain. Hesitantly, he places his hand on the psychic's back and helps him up. He senses the smugness on Spencer before he can even try to croak out something sarcastic. Spencer looks him up and down, examining him like always. "Aw, you care about me, don't you?" he teases, voice crisp from the damage to his throat. Even
It takes Carlton a moment not to think about how Drimmer had his grubby fingers wrapped round his throat. He mockingly rolls his eyes and stands up. "Don't get too cocky, Spencer." Something flashes across the psychic's face, something that he opts to ignore. "You care about me, you soooo care about me!" He repeats again, grinning widely. He's far too exhausted to try retaliate with the annoyance.
Silence falls over them uncomfortably. Pain and trauma that they don't dare mention lingers in the air.
It doesn't take long for Guster, O'Hara, and Spencer sr. to come storming in. They ask dozens of questions- most of which neither he nor Spencer know the answer to- and make a fuss till O'Hara is forced back to work and Spencer sr. heads for a break in the cafeteria. Guster sits closely by Spencer's side, catching him up with 'drama' in pharmacuticals that Carlton's brain is unable to process. So, he just quietly sits there and listens.
"Anyway, I should- uhm, I should get going." Guster says after awhile, looking down at his phone.
"Gus, don't be the Whomping Willow that dresses in all black during sad films" Spencer teases.
"You mean a weeping widow Shawn, the Whomping Willow is from the third Harry Potter." Guster corrects, opening the door. Just as Spencer goes to speak, his best friend cuts in, "And, no, you have not heard it both ways." And with that, Guster leaves.
Carlton clears his throat, eventually rising to his feet. It feels silly to have spent so much time waiting and worrying over Spencer now that he is- although high- doing fine. It all feels silly now that the psychic is giddily cracking jokes like nothing happened. Even so, he can't tear his eyes from the bruises that litter his neck and the wince that he picks up on whenever Spencer even slightly moves. It all feels so wrong.
"Lassie." Spencer suddenly says when he makes to leave, his tone devoid of it's usual playfulness. He hesitantly turns around, preparing himself for some stupid comment. "Thank you." he says, voice barely a whisper. He folds his arms, trying his best to keep the surprise from his face. "Should be thanking you. Wouldn't have caught Drimmer without you." He keeps his voice as monotone as possible, jaw all but screwed shut. There's something...sad behind his eyes.
Once again, as he turns to leave, Spencer pipes up. "It wasn't your fault, you know? The whole thingy. I just...didn't divine it soon enough." The latter part of his sentence is barely audible, and even if Carlton doesn't have whatever psychic voodoo that Spencer claims to have, he can 'divine' the shame and hurt that envelops him. "Drimmer's fault." he decides curtly, giving what is the closest thing to a smile. Spencer nods, even if they can tell that his words aren't convincing. "Drimmer's fault." Spencer echoes.
"Thank you, Lassie." he says again.
"Just doing my job, Shawn."