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Chapter Text

          Henry groaned softly as he awoke. The last thing he remembered was stepping out of his truck at night, then something hard hitting his head, then him hitting the biting pavement like a sack of potatoes.

          He was in a wooden room. It was more like a shed, really, with one flickering, old-fashioned oil lamp on a crate in the corner. His hands were tightly bound behind his back, and his legs were bound so tightly that they were folded in half.

          He desperately strained his ears, but the only thing he could hear was faint laughing and music outside. Henry twisted around, the hay on the floor scratching against his stomach as he went to look where all the noise could possibly be coming from.

          As he squinted through a crack in the shed, he saw he was in a massive field, with a bonfire nearby and people calmly dancing around it. Most, however, stood around an even bigger pile of sticks and branches, talking about… something. They were too far away.

          What was most alarming, however, was the fact that the pile of unlit branches was in a C-shape, as if there was a path put into it, and the fact that there was a chair in the middle. And, who else but he was tied up?

          Henry exhaled in and out, in and out to try to loosen the ropes so he could try to reach his Swiss Army Knife. His sweaty hand grappled with the ropes, and his fingertips were just barely brushing against the handle, when the door slammed open. 

          The music and three men wearing suits burst in, all of them grinning. “Hey-”

          Ignoring him, one of them cut the ropes on his legs and ankles, and the other two yanked him to his feet. They shoved him outside so fast he nearly slipped on the flattened, cut-down corn stalks. “Calm down a minute. Why- why’re you doing this?” Henry panted, but they ignored him, save for annoyed glances. Alright, so these loonies can’t be reasoned with. Just my luck.

          “Did I arrest one of you guys? Look, I’m sorry if I-” He grunted as he was thrown onto the cold, metal chair in the half-ring of branches piled up to be as tall as the cornstalks.

          Two of the men began tying his arms and legs to the chair. “Please don’t cry, Mr. Spencer. It’ll all be over soon,” The man tying his legs spoke, voice soft. He quickly scuttled away, as if his sorrow for their enemy would get him killed.

          Before the man tying his arms left, he leaned down to Henry’s ear, voice slithery and reminding Henry of mildew. “You didn’t give us your son.”

          Mouth slightly agape, Henry watched as they all went away, leaving him in the middle of the pile. His son? That’s what they wanted? His son, a silly, (yet intelligent) psychic that constantly showed himself as a fool?
Then, he remembered the fact that the women were all wearing lace white dresses, and the men wore black suits. All of them were barefoot. This must be some kind of ritual. God, of course these crazies believed in psychics.

          Multiple men and women came back this time, piling on more branches and twigs, even dead cornstalks. After a while of attempting to negotiate, he began to beg. Tell them that he would bring them their son, if only they let him go. But they were silent, and the stars shone cruelly upon him.

          When he was completely boxed in, Henry realized that he would die. No goodbyes, no ‘I love you’s. And the more he struggled, the more regret washed through his bones. He ignored the call he got from these cultists, thinking they were just harmless fools. He ignored his instincts, and now his life, and more importantly, his son's life, was in danger.

          And now, Henry smelled smoke.

          He went into overdrive, writhing to try to reach his Swiss Army Knife; but when he looked down, he found it glittering harmlessly on the dead ground. “Shit,” he breathed. The music was rising now; somewhere between him waking up and being put in this soon-fiery coffin, someone had brought over a piano. Henry wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but he had to escape. He refused to give up, not while his son was still alive.

          He wriggled more and more, until, finally, a part of the rope snagged on a part of the chair. He could see faint flames flickering at the edges of the woodpile, so he shut his eyes while he sawed the rope back and forth, back and forth on the sharp part of the metal chair… back… forth… back… forth.

          When his arms were finally free and the ropes slipped to the floor, he opened his eyes. He tried to ignore the heat licking at his body, but he couldn’t anymore. Smoke was beginning to clog his lungs.

          Bending over halfway, he picked up the Swiss Army Knife and began maniacally sawing at the ropes around his legs.

          But when he was done, it was too late. His lungs were burning, and now so was his skin. He collapsed on the chair, breathing in smog. His breath was raspy, and the music was reaching a crescendo… faster and faster, higher and higher, until he thought he would die.

          Henry closed his eyes.

          The flame licked at his sneakers, then his skin… then the music abruptly stopped.

          There was screaming.

          It had to be… his imagination. He was dying. He couldn’t jump through a wall of fire, and even if he could, he had no idea where he was.

          One, no, two minutes passed, and there was only the sound of screaming and running.

          Three minutes had passed, and there was only one distinct voice; a young man screaming, gutturally. “Help!”

          Seven minutes had passed, and he realized he was feeling strangely cold, except for the aching burns all over his body. This was his body giving up, he told himself. There was no more screaming.

          Nine minutes had passed when he opened his eyes. The fire was gone, and there was only the blackened, smoking remains of the branches around him.

          He got onto his hands and knees on the dirt, and peered through the sticks. The only light was now only coming from the distant bonfire, and all the lamps had been extinguished. There was not a single sound. No cricket, nor coyote.

          “Help!”

          Henry froze his entire body, even his breathing. His eyes widened as he tried to catch every single aspect of the small bit of field he could see in front of him. 

          That young man from earlier was facing away from him, standing still, the bonfire making his shadow streak against the dirt. He had a torn black suit like all the other men, but something was… different. He had blood all over him, especially his hands. The way the man stood was too straight, like he was wearing a brace, and his arms were held slightly outward.

          “Help!”

          The man screamed into the wind again, casually, as if it were no big deal everyone around him was dead. Henry shuddered, wondering if it knew he was still alive.

          Then the man turned around, facing the bonfire. There was blood on its mouth.

          Henry shut his eyes. No, that man was human. Right? He looked human, although Henry’s instincts were screaming at him to hide. Or even better, to die. Because whatever fate that man or thing had in store was worse than death.

          “Help!”

          Shivering, he waited as it screamed, over and over. There weren’t even wind or bugs to protect him.

          Finally, a wolf howled in the distance, and he heard footsteps scampering off.

          Henry waited there for a long time, maybe hours. He didn’t cry, nor let out a single whimper, because he wasn’t sure how far its hearing went.

          Finally, dawn came, and tears rushed down his cheeks for the first time in years as he pushed through the burnt branches and corn stalks. He was meant to be a rational man, a detective for God’s sake, but when he looked around the clearing, he found no rationality. He found corpses, torn apart at the necks and stomachs, their mouths half-open and their eyes glazed. Flies were already beginning to swarm above them.

          And yet, the bonfire was still alive.

          Henry looked toward the sun, truly grateful, for maybe the first time in his life, to be alive. He staggered forward, burns rubbing uncomfortably against his torn and burned clothes, but it didn’t matter. He saw the Devil, or some version of it, and he survived. And although he would lock his doors at night, never stay up past 12 AM again, and never feel safe again, there was a strange satisfaction deep in his heart.

          Maybe this was the truth all along.

Chapter Text

          Gus huffed as Shawn wriggled uselessly for the seventh time. The ropes that tied them together seemed unbearably tight, no matter how much the two of them pushed against the ropes. “Shawn!”

          “What?” The other man panted, unaware of the fact that his wriggling was pushing Gus closer to a particularly disgusting pipe that appeared to have small brown bubbles coming out of one end.

          “Stop wiggling! I do not wanna ruin this shirt.”

          Shawn whined, but stopped wiggling. “Guuus! That doesn’t matter right now. We need to get out of here. We can’t just- just give up.”

          “Easy for you to say when you dress like Adam Sandler!” He snapped back. “Now let’s just think for a minute. Those goons’ll probably be back soon. Maybe you can say some psychic bullshit, and they’ll believe it, with their prophecies and all.”

          “Gus-” Shawn began to say something, but he was quickly cut off by a woman and the two men that kidnapped them, all three of them wearing similar scowls. Gus glanced at Shawn, who was pursing his lips slightly; a sign of him trying not to laugh. “Gus, clearly… clearly this psychic and her, um, bodyguards have outdone me.” Shawn shrugged, nodding his head towards the woman’s frankly ridiculous looking purple cape that had stars and moons all over it. “And her magnificent cape, obviously.”
Gus nodded as gentlemanly as he could, putting on the same face the day a potential customer was dressed like a pimp. “Yeah, and that… sparkly… sparkly doohickey on your neck.” He grinned, although the female psychic did not look impressed.

          Shawn quickly jumped in. “Yeah. Look, I promise I won’t try to outdo you ever again. Just let us go, alright? This is just- just no big deal. You know, the kidnapping and tying us up thing. No big deal!”

          The woman stared down at them with even more disdain than before, her lip curling. “Timothy, please take care of them. They’ll never be found, not for a long time.” She purred, her r’s rolling as she walked back into the main part of the sewer.

         Gulping, Gus stared at the roiling sewage below the grate he and Shawn sat on, imagining the two buff-looking goons rolling him into it.

          “Come on! Guys! You don’t have to throw us in with the fishes! With the smelly, poop-filled water gunk.” Shawn yelled after the female psychic, but Gus barely heard it.

          How could anyone possibly know where they went?

          However, before he could look up to try to further push the fact that these goons should not, under any circumstances, kill him and Shawn, something hard smacked against his head. He heard a crunch echo in his head, then silence.

          When Gus woke up, instead of smelling raw sewage and grimy pipes, he smelled the sterile air of a hospital. There was only the beeping of his heart monitor and soft breathing.

          He turned his head and winced, feeling sharp pain bolt through him. It was night outside. And, again, regardless of the pain, he turned to see Shawn, asleep in a chair, arms folded. “Shawn?” Gus called out to him loudly; Shawn had always been a strong sleeper. “Shawn!”

          Shawn snorted, and his head yanked up. “Gus-?”

          “You had a lotta damn nerve to mention how dirty everything was! In detail!”

          “Gus, come on- I thought she’d understand! You know, with how clean and- and fashionable she was! I thought those kinds of people-”

          “...wait. Shawn, what happened after I was knocked out?”

          Shawn yawned and dramatically stretched, barely even sparing a glance at Gus. “He was about to kill you, but then Lassie came in with Jules and saved us. Said he had a bad feeling about that psychic lady, then checked her tent. Boom. A fuckin’ diary about what she was going to do with us. Perfect, right?”

          Gus nodded absentmindedly. He could’ve been killed. He didn’t want to imagine what would’ve happened if Carlton hadn’t had a hunch and checked the other psychics stand from the carnival. 

          Shawn tossed aside Gus’ phone. “Already told your parents about what happened- hey, you okay?”

          Gus hesitantly looked up to see Shawn, who was already standing by his side. “Yeah, just shook up, I guess.”

          Shawn visibly deflated. Gus cocked his head; that never happened.

          “Gus, I’m… sorry.”

          Gus’ voice turned quiet. “...for what?”

          “Just… everything. I think I caused… this. Maybe if I didn’t…” Shawn shrugged, fidgeting with his hands. “...maybe my dad was right. I’m putting you in danger, with- with this-”

          Gus quickly cut him off. “Shawn, I’ve known you for more than ten years. You think I don’t know what I’m getting into? Yeah, I’m in danger sometimes.” He felt his own eyes soften, and he hoped Shawn could see it too. “But so are you. We’re in this detective business together, alright? So stop worrying, man.”

          After a few seconds, Shawn sniffled and smiled. The fidgeting stopped, and so did the self-hatred. For now. Sometimes Shawn went through bouts of self-hate that were so bad he didn’t even want to get out of bed; but Gus didn’t mind. He learned patience a long time ago.

Chapter Text

          Carlton stood at his window, the window slightly open. Rain sprinkled lightly on him, but he didn’t mind. He was transfixed by the golden, glowing windows far away that dotted the Santa Barbara skyline. Usually they were pitch-black, but it was Christmas.

          It was Christmas, and he pushed everyone away again. They asked him to come with them to dinner, all of them with a sparkle in their eyes, and he had refused. For what reason, he wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe it was the fact that he was particularly miserable that day, or the fact that he was so used to being alone that he thought it was a trick. And, of course, they pushed, and he pushed back, harder than he should have. And they all left, looking so terribly, horribly hurt.

          Carlton had hurt them in the way that everyone had hurt him his whole life. In times like these he vaguely thought of the bullet or the building. Of course, he wasn’t serious; he couldn’t die when he was still working at his dream job! He had so much more to do… and yet, it was tempting.

          Would they even miss him? He was just a strange man in the corner, really, no matter how much he pretended his job made him important. He wasn’t badass, he wasn’t smart, he wasn’t even useful. Spencer always beat him to it. And he definitely was jealous, but the quiet hate and despair was ten times worse. Sometimes he hated Shawn. Hated him for always swooping in and stealing the limelight.

          But Carlton’s regret always snapped back quickly, like a rubber band. He didn’t actually hate Shawn, but there was that small part of him that wanted to be special, and now that position was filled. Instead of the youngest head detective in the history of the SBPD, there was now the quirky psychic detective.

          Maybe he deserved it.

          Staring at the glass of half-drunk scotch he left on the window sill, Carlton realized that he wanted to apologize. They were all so bright and kind, and he was full of sharp edges.

          Vision blurring slightly, he quickly typed down an apology to Shawn. He knew he should do it in real life, but the misery was bursting out of him at the seams. He had to do it now.

          He didn’t know why he was such a mean old dog.

          He put the phone on the windowsill. Pitying himself wouldn’t fix it.

          “I need a damn shower,” He muttered to himself. Pitying himself wouldn’t fix it or him, and he especially shouldn’t drown in it.

          And yet, he left the window open.

          Carlton slipped away from the window, for now, and went to the opposite side of the room where the bathroom was. He slowly got undressed, staring at himself in the mirror as he did so. Was this who he really was?

          Look at me.

          Look at me.

          Look at me.

          He looked away. He ignored the lanky body, the ears that stuck out too far, the frowning and misshapen face. He turned right and went into the hot water, steam already beginning to rise.

          I exist. 

          I exist.

          I exist.

          He cleaned his body with all the energy of an overworked ox, and afterward, he felt no more cleaner than one.

          Carlton went to his bedroom and slipped on sweatpants and a faded SBPD shirt. He stared at his bed, but he wasn’t ready. He went back to the window and picked up his phone, staring back and forth. Window, phone, window, phone. What would happen if he disappeared? If he jumped into darkness and never looked back?

          Suddenly, someone pounded on the door. Carlton knew he should grab a gun, or at least walk a little faster to the door, but his legs were numb and he wanted to disappear. He looked into the peephole, and there was Shawn, Juliet, and Gus standing there, all of them looking extremely worried. “Lassie, open up or I’m busting in!” Shawn yelled.

          Confused (and honestly a bit scared) Carlton quickly unlocked the door and unlatched the two deadbolts, nearly ripping the door open. “What happened?”

          All three of them burst in, panting. Gus spoke first. “Lassiter, Shawn- Shawn said you sent him an apology-”

          “-and I had a feeling!” Shawn cut in.

          Carlton froze, then scoffed, quickly regaining his composure. “So you thought, I’d, what, kill myself? I’m no pussy.” They all flinched, the cat out of the bag.

         Juliet’s eyes drifted to the open window. Her bottom lip quivered, and, wordlessly, she walked over to it and shut it. Looking out the window, she spoke softly, as if speaking to a scared animal. “Carlton… I… we’re all worried about you. You’ve been off the past week and you- you don’t hate us so much that you’d avoid Christmas.”

          Gus fidgeted nervously. “We’re all worried about you, man. You’re always… uptight.”

          Carlton looked, this time, to Shawn, whose eyes were soft and scared. Like he understood, and he wouldn’t judge, couldn’t judge.

          He shrugged, looking at the floor. It was scary how well they could read him sometimes, especially when most people around him only saw an arrogant loner. He couldn’t lie. Not to them. Not when they came all this way…

          …and as he looked back at Shawn’s worried face, Gus’ cocked head, and Juliet’s wet eyes, he knew he had to tell the truth. Or at least some of it.

          “Fine. I guess… I haven’t been well lately.”

          Their eyes probed his skin.

          “I’m just, so… tired.” His hands gestured vaguely to everything around him, but then fell to his sides. “And I’m sorry for blowing you all off. You deserve someone better… more… friendly.”

          Carlton paused, leaning against the living room wall so he didn’t collapse. You could hear a pin drop.

          “Someone not like me,” He muttered.

          When he looked up, he realized Gus and Juliet were crying slightly, and Shawn’s eyebrows were scrunched in worry. They descended on him and nearly made him fall over with their collective hug, and they all started talking over one another.

          “Woah.” Carlton tried to disengage, but he was nearly toppled once more. “It’s really not that serious.” He sighed, waiting for Gus’ blubbering to stop.

          Eventually, they pulled back. “It is that serious, Lassie. You sound like you wanna disappear.” Shawn chuckled, but it sounded forced. 

          “We want you with us, Carlton. You can tell us anything! We’re friends.” Juliet pleaded, eyes sparkling. “Just don’t randomly disappear, okay?”

          Friends. Carlton liked that. “Okay.” He muttered, all of the despair temporarily burned out of him.

          “Oh, and Lassie, I’m staying here. Movie night. I refuse to leave you alone, especially on Christmas.” Gus piped up.

          “Me too.” Juliet and Shawn said, their voices intermingling.

          Carlton frowned slightly. He hadn’t expected them to stay, and now they wanted to, not thinking in the slightest that they were being forced. “Wait-”

          Shawn had already scurried off to look for movies, while Gus was looking for snacks. Juliet had gone off somewhere in the search for a blanket. Sighing, Carlton plopped down on his old couch and waited for Shawn to pick a movie.

          Hours had passed, and the movie had been over long ago. Carlton was laying on the couch with his head on Shawn’s lap, long legs stretched over Guster’s lap, and Juliet on the floor, popcorn bowl long abandoned.

          He watched the static of the TV buzz over and over, listening to the soft sounds of breathing coming from his… friends? Lovers? He wasn’t exactly sure. Sure, they kissed and… admittedly, he had had sex with Shawn and Gus, but it felt… different. Warm. Safe.

          He carefully pulled Shawn’s hand back onto his head, pretending he was still being pet. He would rather french kiss an anteater than admit it, but he loved it. And he loved them.

Chapter Text

          Carlton paced back and forth in Eric’s freezing basement, beginning to doubt why he was even doing this in the first place. His body was screaming at him to run. Eric had told him what was going to happen to him; first, he must be bound in silver chains, then iron rods must be pierced through his hands, and he must wait out the full moon while wearing some kind of… special amulet. 

          It seemed like nonsense, but whenever he closed his eyes, he remembered late nights of snuffling through trash bins, searching for flesh. He could still smell the rotten taste of carcass in his mouth from last night.

          Eric told him it must run in his family. Maybe that’s why dad left, he thought bitterly. He didn’t blame him, now that he knew this. Carlton still was terrified of becoming his father, hated him for leaving them, but now that he knew what it was like to slowly turn into a full-time werewolf, feeling your mind crack and splinter into an animal’s, he understood.

          The door creaked open, and a familiar blond man slipped through the door. “How ya’ feeling?” Eric asked, his smile obviously false.

          “Just ready to get this over with.” Carlton grumbled. “And don’t pretend like everything’s fine.”

          Eric’s smile faltered. “It will be. Trust me, all right? I mean, I’ve done this before. We just gotta follow the instructions.”
Carlton sighed, hating that he had to have such an important procedure done by an utter fool. Eric was nice, but he was such a damn airhead.

          Eric scurried back upstairs, grinning. Suddenly, there was a loud barrage of thumps and bumps, and a dining table crashed through the door. Eric came next, holding a hammer, two iron rods, chains, and rope in his arms, and a glittering amulet dangling off a finger. “Any painkillers?” Carlton asked nervously. Already he could feel the image of the full moon burning in his mind, and his whole body tingling, ready to transform.

          The other man cringed. “Oh.”

          “Goddamn it, Eric!”

          “I thought you’d be fine once you’re turned, alright!?”

          “But what about before I turn?” Carlton hissed through gritted teeth.

          “Sorry, man. You just gotta tough it out. Can’t be much worse than your first transformation, right?”

          Carlton let out a loud groan. “Sweet Justice,” he muttered under his breath.

          “What was that?” Eric grunted, moving the table into the middle of the room.

          “Nothing. Let’s just get this over with.”

          Eric grinned once more, unlatching the locket. “Hell yeah, man! Some enthusiasm!” He went behind Carlton and slipped it around the older man’s neck, then locked it back in place.

          “I wouldn’t call it enthusiasm.” Carlton said, hands instantly moving to feel the necklace. The chain seemed small for all the thrashing he knew he would do, but something about it felt… different. His skin turned tingly and numb where the necklace sat.

          “Alright, now you just gotta lay on the table. I gotta tie your limbs down and shit.

          Carlton complied, taking off his suit jacket. He paused for a moment, then hung it on the doorknob. He took off everything else except for his underwear and lay on the table, arms spread. He winced, trying to avoid the glare of the single, cobwebby light bulb coming from the ceiling. Instantly getting to work, Eric wrapped multiple chains around Carlton’s wrists and ankles, wrapping the ends around the table legs. “What if I break the chains?” Carlton asked nervously, looking up at Eric, whose tongue had slipped out of his mouth slightly with concentration.

          Eric paused from wrapping Carlton’s last ankle to the table leg, and shrugged. “You won’t.”

          Carlton wet his lips, about to complain, before his whole body jerked. Eric’s eyes widened, before he snapped into overdrive. He yanked on the chains, making sure they were all secure, before grabbing one of the rods and a hammer. “I’m sorry,” the younger man whispered, before placing one of the rods on Carlton’s spread-open palm.

          Carlton jerked his head to where the rod was about to pierce his palm. “No, wait-” He cried out, but it was too late. He screamed as sharp pain shot through his bones and his flesh. He heard the bones in his hand snap loudly as Eric pounded the rod down over, and over, and over. Finally, hand throbbing, face red with strain and tears, Eric silently moved to the other hand.

          No matter how much Carlton thrashed and begged, the iron rod pierced him again, again, and again. First his right hand, then his right foot, then his left foot. The entire time, Eric looked at him sadly, as if he were apologizing.

          Anger rushed through his body and he arched his back off the table, growling quietly. Regardless of the severe injuries, his body was changing… and so was Eric’s. Eric was rushing out the basement door, clutching his face. Carlton screamed as he felt his bones elongating, stretching beyond their normal capacity. His whole body was practically on fire, yet, no matter how much he writhed, the chains wouldn’t snap.

          Finally, what felt like hours later, there was only the dull aching in his now furry body and the throbbing in his hands and feet. Desperately, it sniffed the air, mind reeling. Why would they do this to him? Why would they remove its other side from him? So what, it could hurt the people around him; they were strong. Not wolf strong, but strong nevertheless. They could take it.

          Growling, it searched the basement for any sign of escape, but there was only the hammer cast aside in the corner of the room, and its old suit jacket hung on the door knob. It needed to feed, needed to take.

          The full moon shone bright into his mind. The amulet was burning it now, torturing it with the faint smell of its own burning hair. Desperately, it thrashed and roared, but it was no use. The chains held tight.

          It couldn’t see the moon, but it could feel it. It was burning its head now, burning everything, scorching its body from the inside out, blood rushing desperately to quench its own feverish heat. God, how the amulet and the chains burned it, inching past the former pain of the rods stabbed through its hands and feet.

          Endlessly, it roared, pushing past its shame to beg for help, to beg for Eric to let him out. But no matter how much it begged and threatened, there was only the faint, sweaty scent of fear drifting from under the door.

          Hours later, it lay there, panting under the now dim light bulb. Eric’s sweaty terror scent was long-gone, and probably so was its own. Its tongue kept flicking in and out of its mouth, but the only thing it could scent was the mildew. Finally, it reached the ten thousandth, eight hundredth second. Three hours must have passed since the younger werewolf fell asleep, so there was no chance of it escaping now.

          Its tail thumping and its ears just beginning to relax, it finally slept, a familiar jingle that had been playing for the last 30 minutes from its cell phone dying down.

          When Carlton woke up, someone was grunting outside the door, dragging something heavy away. He sat up, realizing the chains and rods were gone, and bloody bandages were wrapped around his palms and feet. Strangely, he was almost completely numb. Maybe Eric snuck in once the night was over and got him stolen morphine.

          He grumbled, his exhausted legs swinging slightly as he sat on the edge of the table. Christ, what happened last night? “Eric?” He croaked out, but to no response. No, Eric wouldn’t just leave him-

          Suddenly, someone started pounding on the door. “Lassie! You in there!?” No. Shawn’s voice was worried and slightly high-pitched.

          Carlton suddenly burst into a fit of coughs, and Shawn burst through the door, stumbling a few steps. Carlton sat on the table, shivering, as Shawn’s eyes immediately scanned the discarded clothes, the bloody table, the bruises and bandages on Carlton. “...oh my god. Lass-!”
Before Shawn could freak out, Carlton put his hand up to stop him. For once, Shawn listened. “I’ll explain later. First… did you see a young blond man around? Eric? He-”

          “Yeah, I took care of him. He was lying on the kitchen floor.” Shawn said, confused. “Now, let’s call the police so you can get the hell outta here. This place is giving me the creeps.”

          “Wait!” Carlton hissed. “Don’t call anyone. And…” He sighed heavily. “...get me my clothes. Then get Eric, tell him I’m awake.”

          “But didn’t he-”

          “No, he didn’t kidnap me. I came here of my own free will. Now, clothes, please.” He growled, for once not relishing the look of confusion on Shawn’s face. Maybe if he told Shawn the truth, Shawn would tell Carlton his own truth.

Chapter Text

          Trapped. He was trapped. Shawn was curled in a ball, blindfolded, under a bed. That’s how Edward always got him, taunting him with all that he could enjoy by leaving him under the bed, alone.

          He could feel the heat and sweat accumulating on the side of his face and the floor, and he kept wiggling uncomfortably, hoping to god that Edward didn’t forget him so he could piss.

          It was pitch-black and the sun was dying out from the small window slightly above ground and his wrist stump was bleeding again and he could feel it trickling, just barely trickling onto his back and smearing on the dress he was forced to wear whenever he moved. Oh, god, Edward would be pissed, wouldn’t he? And the mask with the makeup on it was obscuring his mouth and nose and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t- couldn’t breathe, the slats of the bed over him pressing against his back.

          And now Edward was standing over him, his bitch, his slave that was forced to shout that it loved the fact that Edward killed its parents, its lover, its everything.

          And now it was pitch black dark and the carpet had surely marked itself on his shins and his cheek and oh god please, Eddie, Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I;m 

          Use my title, bitch.

          sORry, please dont be mad please lse plea  .

          And then it was being shaken awake, and he was in a bed, and it was warm, and he wasn’t in a basement, and there were only sheets brushing against his shins.

          “-awn! Shawn!”

          Blinking tears out of its eyes and allowing the sobs to spill out of him, he realized the arms were hairy, and the eyes were blue and soft.

          Instantly, Carlton rushed off the bed and turned on the overhead light, allowing light to bring Shawn out of his nightmares. “Shawn, what happened?” The older man asked, quickly sitting back on the bed. His arms were open, so Shawn fell into them.

          He didn’t want to say it, but there wasn’t any point in lying. Carlton probably heard him screaming Edward’s name.

          Guilt twisted through him, because sometimes, he still missed Edward. Eddie. Master. Terror rushed through him and he hugged Carlton tighter. He didn’t want to be alone in the dark, where Edward could come back and hurt him. “Just please don’t turn the lights off, please, please, please.” He whispered, shivering violently as his right hand, the only hand left, began to clench Carlton’s shirt.

          Carlton gently kissed Shawn’s neck and rocked him back and forth, ever so carefully, as if he were porcelain. “I’m sorry, Shawn. I’m so sorry. I forgot- I didn’t know you’d go to bed so early, and I thought- I thought you’d sleep til’ morning. It won’t happen again.”

          Shawn sniffled. He wanted to say that it was okay, that it was just a little mistake. But it wasn’t a little mistake, not to him. He rarely was in the dark, but when he was, he panicked, and he obsessively caressed the stump on his left arm, almost as if he were sacrificing himself so Edward wouldn’t come back. Maybe if he hurt himself enough, Edward would never come back.

          Carlton pressed Shawn harder into his chest. “You don’t have to say it’s okay. It’s not okay. But it won’t happen again, alright? I got you. He’s dead, and he’s not coming back.”

          Shawn’s body relaxed, although he still shook. “...okay.”

          After a while, the shaking disappeared too. They pulled away from each other slightly, with Shawn’s hands on Carlton’s waist and Carlton’s hands on Shawn's shoulders. Shawn gulped and glanced at the closet, and Carlton’s eyes diligently followed. “Do you want me to check it?”

          Shawn silently shook his head, too ashamed to admit it out loud. Nevertheless, Carlton opened the closet. There was nothing but their clothes and some shoes and knick knacks. Shawn sighed, and Carlton went back onto the bed. “All the windows and doors are locked, too. There’s no one here but us, okay?”

          Shawn nodded, the shaking finally gone. He lay back down under the covers, and Carlton hugged him from behind. “Please don’t make me put that in the dream journal.”

          Carlton nestled himself into the crook of Shawn’s neck, already falling asleep. “I know you don’t wanna do it, babe, but your therapist said you should. Just… if you don’t remember it in the morning, let’s not stress about it, okay?”

          Shawn nodded, but dread filled his chest.. Just thinking about getting another nightmare terrified him. But as his eyes became heavier and the creaking of the fan above them ingrained itself into his brain, he knew it’d be alright. Carlton would always be here.

Chapter Text

          Carlton groaned once more, waking up to the sterile air of a government bunker. He sat up and glanced at his calendar. It was July now, which marked three months since Shawn had been gone.

          Three months since Shawn had probably been taken, and… and transformed into one of those things that lurked in the ocean, threatening to take over humankind.

          He was being taught how to be a lab assistant now. Doing anything associated with his original job just made him feel hollow, and made him remember the fact that he lost everything. All the people he loved, killed or kidnapped by the fish people.

          He looked over, eyes heavy, as he watched Rachel sleep. Rachel, a woman he found himself going back to every time, although he told himself he didn’t want to use her.

          It was hard to care when your whole world was taken from you.

          Carlton stood up and allowed the mattress to spring back up to its usual form, and began his daily routine of showering, brushing his teeth, and getting dressed into a nondescript white coat, black turtleneck, and black slacks. He spared one last look at Rachel, who worked the afternoon shift as a guard. Hopefully, he could find time to talk to her for the billionth time that they shouldn’t be seeing each other.

          Over the past few months that he had been here, he was only one of two lab assistants. No one else wanted to do the dirty work of restraining brainwashed half-breed humans to give them medicine to calm down, or to try to reverse the brainwashing the fish people did to them. Or, at least, to find out more about the fish people. It was hard work, and barely gave them any information, but Carlton couldn’t stand the thought of doing anything else. Of talking to people, of seeing people that would want to get close, but the instant they saw how broken he was, they would leave.

          The coldness of the lab was what he needed.

          The floor was tiled and the walls were concrete inside the laboratory, the same as almost every other room inside the bunker. Yet, he felt his shoulders fall slightly as the card scanner beeped, and the door slid open with a whoosh. Everyone here wanted only progress.

          Dr. Branwen, the lead scientist, smiled and waved at him as he walked in. He was about to nod a greeting, but there was scuffling. Loud scuffling. Instantly crossing the threshold to what appeared to be a few guards wrestling with one of the fish people, his hand automatically went to his waist; but there was no gun there. Dr. Branwen placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling. “Don’t worry, this one’s just a half-breed. Can’t even get out of a net.”

          Carlton turned from her (admittedly creepy) grin and looked back to the guards, who were handcuffing the half-breed onto a gurney. “Want me to medicate it?” He asked casually. 

          Dr. Branwen shook her head, her brown ponytail swinging back and forth. “Not the usual. Just a little bit. I wanna see how it reacts.”

          He nodded and went to the large counter where all the medicines were, and slipped on disposable gloves. Carefully, he extracted a clear, sluggish liquid from a small bottle with a syringe. It felt cruel, but it was necessary.

          The heels of his shoes squeaked against the floor as he went to the half-breed, syringe in his right hand. One of the guards had its head forced to the side, exposing its flaring gills. He pressed the syringe to its neck, but froze.

          It was Shawn. Although Shawn had longer hair now and a lot more stubble, webbed fingers and unnaturally large pupils, it was undoubtedly Shawn, and there were tears in his eyes, and-

          “Lassiter, now!” Dr. Branwen barked. Wincing, he pushed the syringe into Shawn’s neck before he could begin writhing again, and pushed hard on the plunger. Shawn began to whine, exposing bloody, sharp canines. Concerned, he instinctively moved forward to check if Shawn bit his tongue. Shawn snapped at him, jaws clicking, and Carlton flinched away.

          The two other scientists, Dr. Lee and Dr. Hope quickly filled in for him, helping to hold Shawn down as he was wheeled into a cell.

          Carlton flinched as Dr. Branwen brought her hand down onto his shoulder once more. “What the hell was that?”

          After a beat of silence, Carlton moved out of Dr. Branwen’s grasp. “You know when I was found by those scouts, about to be taken by those…”

          Dr. Branwen’s eyes narrowed. “The Deep Ones. I heard. You were lucky they weren’t quicker.”

          “Yes. About- about that… I wasn’t alone at first.” Dr. Branwen cocked her head, and Carlton took that as evidence to continue, taking a shuddering breath. “I used to have someone with me. His name’s Shawn. I thought he was gone forever, until… until he was on that gurney. And now he’s…” He took in a sharp breath, covering his mouth. He couldn’t cry. Not here, not now, not ever.

          A taser buzzed from the cell at the end of the hall, and there was an anguished screech. Carlton flinched, but Dr. Branwen only watched with curiosity as the two other scientists walked out of the cell, the guards trailing behind them. She made a small “hmm” noise, and her wide, excited eyes went back to Carlton. “So, here’s what I’m thinking.”

          Carlton hunched up, knowing what Dr. Branwen was going to say; but she held up a finger. “Don’t worry, we’re not gonna euthanize him. You’re so worried for no reason! I was just thinking that you could specifically work with him since you have a history with him. We could see if transformed people are completely gone.”

          He pursed his lips, unsure. Then, he heard it. Soft whimpers coming from Shawn’s cell. He had to do it. Otherwise… otherwise…

          Wide, unseeing eyes, and stitches on the forehead. Like the other two transformed ones they found. Tame, but human? None of them were sure.

          He clenched his fists in his pockets, and nodded. “Alright. I’ll do it. But you can’t tase him, or any of that bullshit.”

          Dr. Branwen sighed, back turning so she could fidget with the medicines on the counter. “We’ll see.”

          Awkward silence consumed them, until Dr. Branwen turned to him. “Why don’t you take a break until we need you?”

          “But-”

          “Andrew can fill in for you. Go. I think you need it. While you do that, I’ll set up the experiment.”

          Carlton nodded, begrudgingly sighing. He threw away the practically unused gloves and fidgeted with the card scanner. Dr. Branwen was saying something to him, but he didn’t want to hear it.

          Five days had passed since Carlton saw Shawn for the first time in months. And now, it was the second time. His hangover was throbbing in his skull from all the red wine he drank, but, nevertheless, he continued with the experiment.

          He opened the door to Shawn’s cell. Shawn was subdued and quivering on top of the bed that was attached to the wall, eyes half-lidded from all the drugs they’d been giving him. He was wearing clothes one size too large, but it didn’t cover up the spiny fins that were on his forearms, and the webbed fingers and toes. Carlton hoped that the defiance came from somewhere deep inside, not something forced into him by the Deep Ones.

          He pulled out a piece of cheese from his pocket, hoping to help Shawn remember his love for food. Something. Anything.

          Carlton took off a piece and put it in his mouth, then offered the rest to Shawn. Shawn’s eyes were dull, but seeing the cheese, a small spark of curiosity ignited in them. He reached out… then pulled back. There was fear in those eyes. Whether it was caused by the Deep Ones or by the people who took him here, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. Either way, it made his heart ache.

          Who was he kidding? None of this was necessary.

          “You’re Shawn. Do you remember?” The cheese was still on his palm. There was no movement for a long time from Shawn, until he picked up the cheese. He looked at it, turning it around and around. Deciding it must be safe since Carlton ate it, he took a bite.

          There was no widening of the eyes, no recognition, and barely even any sound. But he was nodding, and whether Shawn knew it or not, it was human.

          The next few weeks went like this, albeit slow and barely making any progress. However, Shawn eventually stopped attacking them when off drugs, so Carlton silently rejoiced at the end of every day. Eventually, Carlton stopped drinking the wine he kept at the bottom of his nightstand, and he stopped taking pills to sleep. All he wanted was that small spark of curiosity in Shawn’s eyes.

          It was like his first dates with Shawn before any of this happened.

          One day, he was on his way to the laboratory, hands stuffed in his pockets. But today was different. He had an old picture of them, together, from before. 

          They had been at the park. Shawn and Carlton were on a blanket, in the sunset. Carlton was frowning, and Shawn was grinning, laying on Carlton’s lap.

          Dr. Branwen said it could cause Shawn to be triggered and get aggressive, but he didn’t care. He wanted Shawn back, and he’d do whatever it took. Even if Carlton got hurt in the process.

          He let himself into the laboratory. No one was inside yet, so he turned on the recording for the camera inside Shawn’s cell.

          The door beeped, and Carlton quickly slipped his card back into his pocket. Shawn was smart; if he saw the card, who knew what he’d do to get it?

          When Carlton shut the door, he saw that Shawn was coloring on the floor. Carlton sat on the floor as well, sighing as he mentally prepared himself for whatever would happen once Shawn saw the photo. “Hello, Shawn.”

          “Hi.” Shawn said quietly. He had picked up English again very easily. Whenever he spoke, a small jolt of pride went through Carlton’s chest.

          “What are you doing?”

          Shawn only glanced up once. “Coloring. Thinking.”

          “Thinking about what?” Carlton asked, looking down at what Shawn was coloring. He was coloring a dolphin, and had added a spiny fin on its back.

          Shawn shrugged and stopped coloring, squinting at Carlton. “Why am I here?”

          The older man shifted uncomfortably. He should’ve known this question would come, and he should have thought of an answer beforehand. But he didn’t, so he supposed he’d have to tell the truth. Or at least a version of the truth. Besides, he couldn’t lie to Shawn, not when they were trying to teach him to tell the truth. “I… we… we want to see if you can remember your past.”

          “I telled you, I don’t remember anything.” Shawn grumbled.

          “It’s told. And I… I want to show you something that I think can help.” Ever so carefully, Carlton pulled the photo out of his pocket. He held his breath as Shawn studied it, completely uninterested.

          Until Shawn really saw it. Saw himself, the sun, the friendliness between them in the photo that was now long gone. His eyes widened and he scooched backward, frightened. “Carlton-”

          But before Shawn could say anything, he was cut off by a bright red, flashing light and piercing blaring noises. Carlton immediately looked at the red lightbulb covered in circular glass that was above the door, and instantly got to his feet. It was only 8 in the morning. What could possibly have happened out there?

          His train of thought was immediately interrupted when something slammed him into the wall. The back of his head cracked against the wall, and for a moment, he saw stars.

          When he opened his eyes again, Shawn was lunging towards his neck. Instinctively he yanked his arm up, and biting pain ripped through his forearm. Crying out in pain, he reached towards his hip; but, again, there was no gun.

          What the hell am I thinking? It’s Shawn.

          “Shawn- Shawn, please-”

          Shawn only growled and bit harder. Carlton tried to shove Shawn away; unluckily for Carlton, it worked.

          Shawn ripped away far too fast, taking some of Carlton’s flesh along with it. “Agh!” He screamed and crumpled to the ground, clutching his arm, desperately trying to stop the pain. Dizzy and nauseous, he looked up, watching Shawn walk closer and closer. Shawn’s shirt was on the floor now, revealing a large, spiny fin on his back, and jagged gills on his ribs that had feathery flesh on its edges. His hackles were raised; he was ready to attack.

          No, no, no, please, no. Carlton moaned in pain. “Shawn, you don’t… you don’t… understand… if you escape now, you’ll- ah- you’ll be- be changed. Brenwen… will- AH!” He yelped as he fell over and hit the wall next to him with his bad arm, and a fresh wave of pain throbbed into him. He sobbed, wondering how it could hurt so badly.

          Still, Shawn didn’t stop. He knelt down, webbed hand grasping for the card in Carlton’s pocket. How did he know!? His mind screamed.

          Crying out, he grabbed Shawn with as much force as he could muster. “Spencer, please!”

          For a moment, time stopped. The alarm blared, but it seemed like nothing compared to the silence between them. Shawn was completely frozen, shaking and staring at Carlton as if he were the one bleeding out.

          A few minutes later, Shawn withdrew, muttering incoherently. “Lassie, sorry, I’m sorry…” He shivered and curled up on the bed.

          Carlton panted, his consciousness flickering in and out. Suddenly, the blaring was gone. “...s’ okay. I won’t let them… hurt you.”

          Suddenly, guards busted in, with Dr. Branwen in tow. Before he lost consciousness, he babbled as they hauled him onto a gurney. “Don’t hurt im’, please, he didn’t mean it…” And Shawn watched, eyes wide, all aggression gone from him.

Chapter Text

          Juliet hummed tunelessly, giving the occasional side-glance to a strange, fidgeting man that was on the opposite side of the elevator. Shawn was next to her, staring off into the distance, most likely thinking about their current case. People were seemingly killed at random, until Shawn “divined” that the person who killed them all was actually their drug dealer. Again, he “divined” that the person who caused all this was one Richard Burke, a rich man who was described as a “strange, lone wolf” by his coworkers.

          In exchange for not being arrested for cocaine usage, one of the coworkers agreed to tell where he thought Richard currently was; at his apartment.

          So, here they were, about to bust into a criminals door, but the stranger across from them was setting off alarm bells. He kept fidgeting and nervously playing with the strap of his big, black duffel bag. However, before she could say anything about it to Shawn (who also looked as if he were about to say something about the highly suspicious man) when the elevator began to screech and stutter.

          Instantly, Shawn grabbed her hand and grabbed onto the railing next to him. Juliet yelped as she felt the elevator fall slightly, and she felt her feet leave the ground for a split second. Loud clicking echoed inside the elevator, and it jolted to a stop. All three of them fell to the floor with loud thumps.

          Instantly, Juliet wobbled to her feet, helping up Shawn. “Shawn, you okay?”

          He groaned and used the wall to stand up, rubbing his head. “Yeah, Jules. Fine. Just, you know, in an elevator that crashed.”

          “Right… okay. Okay. We need to see if we can get this elevator open. Maybe it stopped on one of the floors.” She instantly crossed over to the wall of buttons and used her thumb to press on the button that opened the doors; however, when they finally squeaked open, it only revealed a concrete wall. “Okay… well, then we’ll just get a repairman, or a firefighter, or something.”

          She glanced to the side, seeing that the strange man was now even closer to Shawn. For some strange reason, Shawn was shaking. She’d never seen him like that, not even when he had been held at gunpoint. “That won’t work.” The stranger whispered, his voice high and jittery.

          She slowly turned around, suddenly terrified to see what was behind her. “Why not?”

          The man was blond and blue-eyed, and there was something… wrong with him. “Other- other people have tried that before. It doesn’t work, and- and I can’t let you do that. I have him. I have him, and I’m not letting go.” He whispered, his hand on Shawn’s back. Shawn winced, and it took all of Juliet’s self-control to not whip out a gun on the other man. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? You’re here to arrest me. Must’a been John, huh?”

          Juliet instinctively moved to grab her holster. Suddenly, Richard exploded, his face going comically red as spittle flew out of his mouth. “Put down that gun, bitch, or I’m carving his goddamn stomach out!”

          Her hands instantly went in the air, and Shawn yelped as he was kicked to his knees. “It must’ve been that goddamn rat, John! Tell me!” He suddenly pointed the gun towards Juliet, finger quivering precariously on the trigger.

          “Alright! Alright. It was him. And- and we were here to arrest you…” She glanced towards Shawn, who seemed entirely too focused on the floor. His hesitation made her stomach do flips every time she saw it. “...but clearly- clearly you are doing well for yourself, and…” Richard’s gun lowered slightly, his eyes suspicious. “...and I admit it, I was jealous. But I can- I can go, alright? We’ll leave you alone, and we won’t-”

          “Fucking liar.” Richard hissed, pointing the gun straight at the back of Shawn’s head. “You two know I’m done for. Whore’s never change, huh?” He sneered, kicking Shawn in the ribs.

          Shawn immediately let out a pained gasp. “Don’t listen to im’ Jules- he’s- he’s just trying to get under your skin!” For that, he was kicked in the ribs, multiple times. Once, twice, thrice. Every single time, he cried out in pain, and Juliet was unable to stop herself from wincing.

          “Throw away your gun, or I’m gonna kill him.” Richard suddenly smiled, bending down slightly as he unzipped the duffel bag. Reluctantly, Juliet slowly and carefully slid her gun to the other side of the elevator.

          “Good, good.” Richard rummaged around until he pulled out a small baggie full of white powder. His gun still trained on the back of Shawn’s head, he skillfully opened the baggie with his teeth, dipped his pointer finger in it, then rubbed some of the powder on his gums. “Was savin’ this for later, but I guess there won’t be a later for me. So have fun.” He grinned, kneeling down and dumping the rest on the floor in front of Shawn’s miserable-looking face.

          “You wanna know how we first met, huh?” Juliet, with a disgusted look on her face, couldn’t make herself comply. Nevertheless, Richard continued. “He was around 16 or 17. Was at the height of his love for coke, but even when he told his daddy on me afterward no one believed him. Had sex with me so I wouldn’t blacklist him.”

          Shawn moaned. “Richard, please-”

          The gun clicked, and Richard was all business once more. “Sniff it.”

          Juliet cut in, no longer frozen. He wanted to kill Shawn, or at least re-traumatize him. “Mr. Burke- Richard- do you want money? Do you want to get out of the country? Please, don’t-”

          The gun was back to Juliet, and Richard was roaring again, spittle flying out. Shawn looked so small. “I said shut up! Now, sniff it, Shawn!”

          “Jules- Jules, just do what he says, I’ll be fine, as long as you’re-”

          A shot echoed throughout the small elevator, and Juliet couldn’t help but cover her ears. Shawn sobbed and fell forward, fresh blood dribbling out of the back of his calf. Tears spilled down his helpless face, yet he leaned forward on his elbows and knees, covered one nostril, and snorted the cocaine with blood already running down his face. He must have broken his nose.

          The snuffling and snorting noises seemed to go on forever until Richard appeared satisfied. Finally, Richard kicked Shawn in the ribs one last time, causing Shawn to fall into the corner of the elevator, defeated.

          “O’Hara and Spencer are in there!”

          Richard and Juliet both snapped to attention, looking above them. Carlton’s distinct, grumpy voice was so close, yet so far. Richard grinned, opening the revolver he held; there were only two bullets left. “Don’t worry, I’ll spare you. I need someone to talk about me after it’s all over. No one’ll believe him.” Richard jerked a thumb to Shawn, who was wheezing and curled up in a ball.

          Before Juliet could intervene, however, Richard put the gun in his mouth. “Richard, wait-”

          The gun went off. Richard’s whole body jerked as his head exploded like a shattering watermelon, and he instantly collapsed. Blood sprayed mercilessly onto the wall, part of the floor, and Shawn’s shoes.

          However, when the elevator was brought up to the fifth floor and Shawn was found in Juliet’s arms with the perp dead on the other side, Juliet still didn’t feel any safer.

Chapter Text

          Shawn stared dully at the small blade on his palm. It was maybe the size of his thumb, yet he relied on it so much.

          His thighs were littered with scars, some fresh, some tan and faded, some scabbed over. He hadn’t let Juliet see him naked since the incident, but it wasn’t because of sexual trauma like she thought.

          He hadn’t cut himself since he was a young adult, and he thought it would be strange to begin again. Thankfully, the old song and dance was so familiar it was almost comforting; wiping the sweat off his palms before cutting, pressing onto the cuts with toilet paper so they’d bleed through his pants less, then washing the blade and packing it neatly into his wallet. It was his little secret, his little world he could escape to where nothing was real but the burning and stinging pain.

          Or so he thought, until he heard the front door click.

          Shit. Jules isn’t supposed to be home until later.

          “Shawn! Carlton said he’d cover my paperwork!”

          “Great! I’ll be out in a sec, Jules!” He called out, quickly trying to wipe off the blood that was pooling in his cuts. Fuck, fuck, fuck, his whole routine was completely ruined.

          “Shawn?” Footsteps came closer and closer.

          “Jules, wait, don’t-” But it was too late.

          Juliet opened the door, her face jovial; but when she saw the scars and cuts all over Shawn’s thighs, her happiness was instantly crushed. “Shawn!” She gasped, instantly running over. “What happened?”

          “Juliet, I…” He gulped nervously. There was no way he could lie his way out of this, especially not to Juliet. “...I couldn’t help myself.”

          Juliet got to her knees, checking the depth of the cuts and scars. “Shawn… why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice was low and hurt, and his chest ached. 

          All he wanted was to not worry her.

          He swallowed and looked away, too ashamed to answer. Juliet touched his cheek, bringing it back. “Hey. Shawn. You can tell me anything, right? That… incident in the elevator… you don’t have to tell me everything. But just tell me what’s worrying you, okay?”

          A beat of silence, and he nodded. She sighed, slightly relieved. Hopefully, he would actually follow that promise. “Let’s… let’s clean this up. Then we’ll tell Vick you’re taking a week off, then-”

          Shawn shook his head, and Juliet’s eyes filled with even more worry. “Shawn, you need help.”

          At that, he couldn’t disagree.

          “I won’t tell her everything. I’ll just say you’re really sick, or something. Okay?”

          Shawn nodded, his voice raspy. “Okay.”

          “I’m going to take care of you now.”

          “...okay.”

          Nodding back, Juliet stood up. She went outside the bathroom to where the first aid kit was, discarded her jacket on the couch, and rummaged around in the closet until she found the kit. A minute later she returned, alcohol, cotton pads, and bandages in her arms.

          Silent and shaking, Shawn watched as Juliet poured alcohol on some cotton pads, and set to work cleaning his wounds. He winced and hissed, but her face remained serious and focused.

          He smiled slightly. Her hair was still back in a bun, and her forehead was lightly dotted with sweat from the day’s heat. If he were to trust someone with his past, it would be her.

          Finally, she wrapped bandages around Shawn’s thighs, and helped him off the toilet seat. “You wanna watch something?”

          He shook his head. “I just… I just want to lay down.”

          She nodded, giving him a soft smile. As he went into their bedroom, he heard the rustle of his razor blade falling into the trash. Sighing, he collapsed into their bed, not even bothering to get under the covers.

          A few minutes later, Juliet returned. She got redressed into pajamas and pulled the covers over him, then got under them as well. She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but return it this time. Then her smile fell, and his heart froze. “Shawn… what were you thinking?”

          Shawn glanced away, his heart jolting with self-hatred. “...I… I just kind of… zoned out, I guess. I was back there, seeing… seeing what happened.”

          Juliet scooched closer and began to pet his hair. “See what?”

          “Not the- the elevator. When-” He choked up, but tried to cover it up with a cough. “...before that. What he talked about inside the elevator. I thought I got over it, but- but I guess not. I guess I was just used to being the happy one all the time.”

          Juliet pulled him closer. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” She whispered. Minutes or hours passed, and his eyes became heavy. She was asleep, yet he still whispered to her.

          “I love you, Jules.”

Chapter Text

          Henry sighed contentedly, hands on his hips as he watched the steak sizzle and pop. Today marked a month since he had been kidnapped and tortured so he would (unsuccessfully) fess up to where his son was. He had invited Shawn over for steak, hoping to have a good time (and to show that bastard who tortured him that he was fine; not that it mattered, anyway, because that man was dead). The burns on his body had mostly healed, and the cuts and bruises would be there soon enough.

          Today was a beautifully sunny day, with only a few wispy clouds drifting around in the sky; or so Shawn would call them, “sky farts”.

          The lawn was mowed, and most of the surfaces in his house were clean. He had nothing to do now but sit down with his son, eat, and talk about their lives. Strangely, thinking about doing that filled his chest with heavy dread, but he didn’t want to analyze himself. Especially not now, with someone else in the house. It was like they could read his mind. He should be thinking strong and rational thoughts, not internally screaming from discomfort because of how the cast on his left wrist felt. He should be the one to depend on, not the other way around.

          There was an extra loud pop, and Henry hissed as he felt hot butter burn the top of his hand. “Goddamn it…” He cursed, walking over to the sink. He turned on the sink and put his injured hand under it for a few minutes, then shut it off.

          However, afterward, when he was drying his hand, everything went downhill.

          It wasn’t the burning, but the sickening warmth afterward that brought him back. Back to the chair and the lighter, the powerful, tiny little thing that caused burns all over his body. He had been tortured for hours with various tools, but the flame was what secretly terrified him most. It was unpredictable and burning hot, burning through his confidence and his ability to think straight.

          Henry leaned forward onto the cold counter top, counting to ten over and over. I’m here. I’m in my house, with my son, about to eat dinner. But it wasn’t enough. He kept slipping back to the dingy basement with the buck-toothed maniac and the red lighter, flicking on, flicking off. Flicking over his chest, his stomach, his legs.

          He heard the creak of a door, and the smell of flesh burning; his flesh. Or was it the steaks? His ass was on the line, but if he fell apart, Shawn would be-

          “...dad! Dad? You alright?” Shawn came up behind him. Henry squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them to open. Yes, he was alive, and safe. But he didn’t feel safe. Shawn was right in front of him, yet it still felt like Shawn was about to be killed.

          “Yeah, kid, just…” He shook his head, but the heavy feeling in his chest and pouring sweat didn’t stop. It was like the aftermath of a nightmare, but lasting far too damn long. “...I need to sit down.” Shawn’s eyebrows immediately scrunched together. He hated it. He didn’t want to be pitied; he used to be a detective, for god's sake! “I just need to sit down Shawn, and I’ll be fine. Alright? Alright.”

          He pushed through Shawn and sat down heavily on the couch. The remnants of heat were still on his body, pulsating along with the rhythm of his heart.

          Shawn’s hand was on his shoulder now, and he, for once in his life, was silent as Henry pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, his elbows on his knees. He listened to the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears until he felt the tears run down his cheeks. A few minutes later he was back up, wiping the tears away. When he looked up, Shawn was unable to hide the worry shining in his eyes. “What happened?”

          Henry shook his head. His body was screaming at him to not say anything; but Shawn wasn’t a kid anymore. He could handle the truth. “Remember when I was kidnapped?”

          Shawn blinked. Slowly, he nodded, his voice quiet and void of all joy it had only a few minutes ago. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

          “Just got caught up in… in the past. I’m fine, Shawn.”

          Shawn swallowed hard, his Adams apple bobbing, eyes wide like a deer’s. “Are you sure?”

          Shawn’s eyes probed Henry’s. Was he really okay? Since the… incident, he’d been just trying to keep things going. Skin grafts, physical therapy, trying to deal with hospital boredom. “Yes.”

          For just a moment, his eyes were caught in Shawn’s; his son knew something was up. But then he stood up and dragged his vision away, looking back at the stove. “Shit. Forgot to turn off the stove.”

          Maybe he’d be more honest another day. But for now, he just wanted to see contentment in his son’s eyes.

Chapter Text

          Shawn’s eyes shot open. He looked around his room, but something was different. Jennifer never ever let him change anything about his room, not even now.

          Finally, he noticed it. Jennifer had decorated a bit, putting little bits of mistletoe around the room. He opened the curtains, looking around at Santa Barbara below. It was dark, but birds were chirping and lights were on already in a few windows. “Oh!” He whispered to himself. It was Christmas morning! Silently, he prayed that Jennifer would come home early, and that Eric was still asleep. He loved it when she brought him donuts, as a special treat for good behavior.

          Of course, Eric had his good qualities as well; sometimes he let Shawn sit at his feet while he was doing paperwork, or while all 3 of them watched TV. It had only been 5 months since Shawn had been whisked away, and already they were allowing him to get outside of his room.

          Every single time, it was exhilarating. It was like seeing the first Fast & the Furious.

          Quickly, Shawn got undressed. For a moment he traced the scar on his sternum, frowning; Eric always called it ugly. Then he pulled a shirt over it, careful to button up every single button, then jeans. Maybe Jenny could convince Eric to let him out today. It had never worked before, but maybe since it was Christmas… maybe a miracle could happen.

          The front door squealed and Shawn obediently sat on his bed. Outside he heard the rustle of grocery bags and Jennifer’s soft voice as she hummed tunelessly. “Eric! Is he awake yet?” She called out, voice echoing in the wide-open kitchen. Eric mumbled something, and the door opened soon after. “Shawnie! Dressed already? How’d you sleep?”

          Shawn grinned and got to his feet; permission granted. Jenny hugged him tightly, smiling up at him with her bright, white teeth. “Good. You gonna make dinner tonight?’ Thankfully, she nodded. Eric cooked a lot since she was in depressive episodes most of the time, confined to her and Eric’s bed. Or if Shawn got lucky, in his, although that meant Eric sleeping inside his room that night.

          Jennifer giggled and pulled back, her hands on his shoulders. “Yeah. Steak and green beans. But first… we’re taking you outside!”

         Shawn’s mouth went agape slightly. “Really! Jenny, that’s- that’s great!”

          “I still have to ask Eric!” She whispered, her eyes wide with excitement.

          Shawn’s grin instantly turned into a frown. “Jenny, wait-” He held out his hand to stop her, but she was already walking away. Groaning, he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and paced back and forth in his small room. Great. Now Eric would think he was the one that suggested going outside.

          He sat on the bed, listening to their squabbling through his slightly agape door. Of course, Eric would find a way to blame him for Jennifer leaving the door open, even though she was the one who did it. 

          Sometimes, he wondered why Eric even stayed with Jenny. She was so… so out of it.

          Suddenly, Shawn heard Eric stomping closer to his room, and Jenny’s hurried pleas. Eric suddenly burst through, the wooden door slamming against the wall so hard that it ricocheted. He stalked closer and lifted Shawn up by his collar, glaring. “You didn’t put her up to this, did you?” He growled through gritted teeth.

          Instantly, he shook his head.

Eric looked slowly between Shawn, then Jennifer, Shawn, then Jennifer. Finally, he sighed, and allowed Shawn to fall back onto the bed. “Fine. But if any of you jeopardize this…” He vaguely gestured to the room, his eyes suspicious. “...Shawn’s losing dinner and lunch privileges for a week.”

          Shawn sucked in a deep breath, glancing at Jennifer. Her hands were in the air doing peace signs, and she was cheering. “Woo! Shawn, I did it!”

          “...yeah… you did it.” He grinned nervously, but it instantly fell when he saw how Eric was glaring at him.

          “Breakfast first!” She said, running outside. There was the sound of crumpling, and she ran back in, holding a bag of donuts. “Shawnie, I got chocolate!”

          All three of them went outside, with Shawn wearing a borrowed jacket from Eric. Jennifer rambled endlessly on his right, and Eric was scanning the area around them on his left. He was holding both of their hands, truly smiling for the first time in months. They needed him, whether they liked it or not. Jennifer needed companionship, and Eric needed control.

          For the first two months he disappeared from the outside world, he had to be  handcuffed down. He didn’t understand. But now he did. Dad, Gus, Carlton, Jules; he was helpful for them in cases, yes, but he was selfish. With Jenny and Eric, they understood what he was. They hurt him, yes, but they accepted him. Because they were all flawed. They deserved to be hurt, just like him. They could have dumped him out on the street at any time, and yet, they chose to keep him safe, in their house, away from hurting others. From being selfish.

          They taught him how to love. They taught him to stay quiet, to follow rules, to grit his teeth while being hit so he didn’t scream. A compromise between staying silent and screaming his guts out so he didn’t alert neighbors.

          And he loved them for it. Finally, he was getting his penance. He hated it sometimes, but it was just the irrational part of himself dying out. Like Eric said, pain was weakness leaving his body. Someday, he would be completely used to it, and he would be Perfect.

          Eric’s eyes snapped to a brightly-lit store. “Jenny. You wanna go there?”

          Jennifer instantly stopped talking, and looked towards the store, her eyes reflecting the Christmas tree lights that were above the doors. “Yes! Yes, of course!” She squealed and hugged Eric, who huffed and gently patted Jennifer’s blonde hair, which was in a soft blowout.

          They all went in, Eric practically dragging Shawn behind him. Shawn and Jennifer went to the food aisle, while Eric split off to go look for a present for Jennifer. “Oh, Shawn!” She gasped and ran over to stare at a yule log cake that had pine needles, pine cones, and berries made out of fondant scattered all over it. “Oh, Shawn, it’s beautiful! I’m totally gonna get it for us!”

          “Oh, my God.” He practically salivated as he stared at the chocolate, shiny finish cut to look like bark on the yule log. He swore he could smell the sweet cocoa rolling off its hide. “Holy shit, that’s-”

          “Shawn!”

          He froze. Gus? Instinctively, he turned around. Fuck. Carlton and Juliet were there as well, all of them with concern bleeding out of their faces. “Oh, Gus! Uh… how are you guys?” He forced himself to grin, invisible strings pulling up at the corners of his mouth.

          Jennifer turned around, her smile faltering as she clung to Shawn. He wasn’t psychic, but he knew she was silently begging for Eric to not walk over. She hated it when he was put in isolation for bad behavior.

          Juliet spoke first, cocking her head. “Shawn, you disappeared for five months. Are you… okay?”

          He scoffed, searching their eyes for anything but worry; but of course, he didn’t. They weren’t stupid. Something was up.

          Carlton stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Spencer, you wouldn’t just disappear off the face of the Earth. What’s-”

          Suddenly, Jennifer hugged his arm sickeningly tight, and her voice burst out with high-pitched anger. “He doesn’t need you anymore, so just go away!” Shawn flinched and looked up at the aisle across from them, where he knew Eric would be. And he was, his face dark and full of annoyance.

          Shawn chuckled nervously, flinching away from Jennifer’s grasp. “Jenny, I think we’re kinda’... late for something… left the oven on?” He stammered, already backing away. His calves hit the edge of the refrigerated counter, and he quickly walked off before his friends could ask anymore questions. He nearly slipped on the white, generic wood tiles in his desperation, and slipped into the next aisle.

          Eric’s strong hand fell on his shoulder, and he flinched. Instantly, he began to babble. “I’m sorry, okay! I really- I really didn’t know they’d be here, honest to god-”

          “Shut up.”

          His mouth snapped shut.

          “Now they know. Because you couldn’t keep your goddamn mouth shut.” He looked around desperately, but Jennifer wasn’t here to defend him. Eric’s lip curled in disgust. “And you were doing so good, too.”

          Shawn yelped as Eric began to drag him outside by his collar, and guilt and horror writhed its way up from his stomach to his chest. “Please, I didn’t mean it-” He panted, but Eric ignored him.

          He didn’t realize when Jennifer caught up to them, but he thought it was probably when they were almost home. Jennifer was crying, pleading for Eric not to hurt him; but it was too late. When Eric wanted to do something, he was dead set on it.

          Once they were inside, Eric shoved Shawn into his room and slammed the door shut. Jennifer continued pleading, but Eric screamed “Shut up!” only once before she did. She continued whimpering before she slammed the door of the bedroom she and Eric shared.

          Shawn collapsed onto the bed, the heels of his palms digging into his eyeballs as he desperately tried to calm down. He could hear Eric digging around in the living room, looking for a way to torture him. And yet, he couldn’t even cry. Eric always made fun of him for it.

          I just wanna go home. I just wanna go home.

          Tears bled out of his eyes anyway, and a few minutes later, Eric burst in, frowning.

          He had a sewing kit.

          Instantly, Shawn smushed himself into the corner of his bed and the wall, unable to stop himself from begging even though Eric hated it. “No, please, no, Eric- Eric, don’t- it won’t happen again, I won’t ever go outside againplease-” Eric raised the sewing kit and Shawn instinctively shut his eyes and looked away, the right side of his head scraping against the plaster wall. 

          He heard the whistling of the kit flying through the air, and a crack as it hit the left side of his head. Warm blood immediately pricked up on his temple, and he looked back towards Eric, dizzy.

          Eric was stalking towards him, glee shining through his usually stoic face.

          His breath was shoved out of him as Eric picked him up and slammed him down on the bed. The box rattled as it was picked up, and Eric snapped it open. Shawn squeezed his eyes shut, and a whimper escaped him as Eric straddled his waist, his solid body pressing down on Shawn’s skinny one.

          He let out a small sob as he felt the prick of a needle on his bottom lip. Tears streamed down his face as Eric wiggled the needle through his lip then pulled it through. The string dragged agonizingly slow against the inside of his lip.

          It happened again, once, twice, thrice, then four times. Each time the needle and string was dragged through him, and his mouth kept opening and screaming from the fear and pain. Finally, after he could no longer open his mouth to cry and blood was pouring down his chin, it was over.

          Eric tied up the string at the ends of his mouth. Then, as if nothing had happened at all, he snapped the box shut and walked outside.

          Still crying, Shawn crawled under the covers. His head was empty and tired, as if it had been the one crying, not him.

          H e was so hungry

          I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it i didnt mean it i didnt mea it i idndtm ean it Somebody HELP help HELP

          for something. Anything. He wanted that chocolate cake so badly but it had been, been yank ed away again like everything else. He was small. Too small. He wanted to jump out the window in his room and splatter on the pavement. Maybe then Eri c would understand he didnt m ean it

          and he cried, and he cried, and he cried. He wanted his mom. Even his dad would be OK. He just wanted t o be good, to be pure… to be pure, to be pure, to be safe… to not deserve any of this.

          And he shivered, and he cried, and he physically forced his lips to be sh ut because everything hurt to bad and he was too small, just too small to do anything about it.

          And he was hungry, and he was hungry, and he was hungry for the next week. and he pissed himself dry, an d even Jenny didn’t even see him. soemtimes he lay against the door, crying quietly to try to make them feel bad, and he hated it, and they hated him, and they hated him. He didn’t mean it.

          And even when he was big again, he sat in bed, too tired and hungry and pissed out. Eric didn t even leave him a bucket. He slept constantly, wishing and waiting for the time that Eric would cut his lips loose. He swore to himself he’d never speak again.

          “...awn. Shawn!”

          Someone’s gruff voice filled his ears and his groggy, crusty eyes unscrewed themselves. Someone was cutting the last string that kept his mouth shut away. The string was dragged out of his mouth, and for a second, he froze. Eric was here, about to feed and water him before he screwed his mouth shut again.

          But when he wiped the tears and crust away, Carly was the one standing above him.

          “Lassie?” He rasped. Carlton grabbed one of his hands and his back, helping him sit up. Like a doll, he forced himself up.

          Carlton’s warm hand pressed against his neck and he leaned against the warm hand, selfishly wishing for more. He knew it, he knew his pulse was too rabbit-quick. “Jesus Christ, Spencer.” Carlton said, his voice quiet and wavering.

          “M’ okay, Lassie.” He mumbled.

          “Let’s get you out of here, okay?” The older man said. He peeled back the blanket laying on Shawn’s lap and winced. “Sweet Justice. How long have you been here?”

          “Just a couple days,” He said quietly. The pee-smell was probably wafting up to Lassiter’s untrained nose.

          Carlton’s face twisted with horror. He turned away, shouting out to the open door. “We have a hostage!”

          Shawn shut his eyes again, his stomach and head too empty. He just wanted to sleep. Why couldn’t he sleep? He’d paid his dues. Eric made sure of that.

          Carlton sat on the bed next to him and held him upright. Shawn allowed his face to fall onto Carlton’s shoulder, and he breathed in coffee and aftershave. It was one of the best damn smells in the world, even though it made his head spin a little. Still, he did it every time they slept together. Or used to, at least.

          Suddenly he ripped his head up as he began to feel his torso constrict with nausea. He didn’t wanna throw up on Lassie, never Lassie. “M’ gonna throw up,” He muttered. Gently, Carlton pushed him forward so he faced the floor, rubbing his back.

          “Door’s too small!” Someone yelled from outside. “Get the foldable!”

          Carlton snapped his fingers as Shawn began to drift off. “Shawn, stay awake, okay?” Shawn made a noncommittal noise, and Carlton cleared his throat, clearly determined to help him stay awake. “How’d you even sleep in this closet?”

          “S’ not a closet. It’s my room.” He mumbled.

          “Shawn!”

          “Jules?”

          He felt small and gentle hands help him back up to a sitting position as a paramedic went into his room sideways, the folded-up stretcher flat against their chest. Another paramedic came next. “We’ll need your help getting him on.”

          Juliet pulled away, nodding. “Okay.”

          Then four hands were on him, two under his soaked armpits, two at his calves. As he was lifted onto the stretcher, he shut his eyes. “Too bright,” He heard himself mumble.

          Juliet pet his forehead, smiling down sadly at him. “I know.”

          Then they were moving, and Shawn moved his head to the side. It was a tight fit, but they eventually got him through the closet door.

          And then he saw it. Jenny was draped over Eric’s body, sobbing, while a puddle of blood was slowly expanding beneath him. “Eric!” He cried out, his voice slurring. Eric’s eyes were too glazed, too… empty. His heart panged. He never got to prove that he was good to Eric. “He’s not dead, is he? Tell me he’s not dead!” He looked up to Carlton, who only stared down at him with an awfully miserable face. “Please, please…” He sobbed, his voice hollow.

          They didn’t answer.

Chapter Text

          Carlton wheezed as the drug dealer he went undercover for ran away, already tucking the bloody blade into their backpack. The drug dealer quickly found out who he was, and had promptly stabbed him.

          He was too exhausted, and sharp lightning bolts of agony jolted through him whenever he tried to feel around to see where he got stabbed. What he did know, however, was that he was bleeding. A lot.

          He was tired. So damn tired. The dealer had stomped on his phone, making him completely unable to call for help.

          And he didn’t want to yell for help, although he knew he should. He wanted to sleep.

          So, sleep he did.

          What felt like mere minutes passed before Juliet was shaking him awake, her face pale. “Carlton! What happened?”

          “M’ okay, just… he ran off, somewhere. Go… go get him.” He slurred, vaguely pointing in the direction the dealer ran off to.

          Juliet kneeled in front of him, her face determined. “Carlton, I’m not leaving you. You’ve been missing for an hour. Obviously, something’s wrong.” Her eyes flicked down to his hand, which was no longer clutching his torso. “Shit,” She whispered. “Carlton! Why didn’t you call for help!?”

          “O’Hara, I’m-” He was quickly cut off as he bent over to the side and threw up. When he sat back up, he realized there was blood streaked throughout his vomit. Shit.

          Instantly, Juliet peeled off his drenched shirt, and gasped. “Carlton! You’re bleeding!”

          “Tell me something I don’t know,” He muttered, shutting his eyes as he leaned the back of his head against the brick wall.

          Wheezing, he listened to Juliet call for backup. Maybe if he just slept a little more…

Chapter Text

          Juliet swirled the amber liquid in the bottle, watching as it glimmered under the light of her kitchen table. Whenever she closed her eyes she was at the top of the clock tower, listening to the thunking of the clock behind her.

          This was her sacred place where she drank and slept. She barely ate anymore, too tired to. She claimed that she was on a diet.

          They never believed her, especially not Shawn, but it was worth a try.

          She didn’t even know why she was hiding it anymore. They loved her and wanted the best for her; yet, whenever she closed her eyes, she slipped away to another world where they didn’t. No matter what she did, she never truly felt… with them.

          Juliet splayed her fingers and forced her hands together, making them fit like puzzle pieces. She pulled them apart and drank the rest of the wine bottle. What the hell was she doing here, when she could be with the others?

          She knew the answer. She knew she didn’t deserve it. Or maybe she did, but she didn’t want to deserve it. She let herself get kidnapped. What kind of detective was she if she couldn’t see the signs that she was in danger? She was supposed to be the cheery one, the one that they could all depend on; but what use was she if she wanted to mope? What use was she if she dragged them all down?

          Sometimes, Juliet wanted to drink in front of them, just to make them see. She wanted Shawn, Gus, and even Carlton to know that no matter what she did, she always had nightmares of that night on the clock tower.

          Suddenly, someone was banging on her door. “Jules! Open up! We’re having movie night!”

          Her gaze drifted to the door. Why did Shawn always have the worst timing? Shit. She hurriedly picked up the wine bottles and tossed them into the trash. More banging ensued as she quickly went into her room to pull on a shirt. “Coming!” She shouted back, forcing her voice to remain higher, so as not to raise suspicion. She pulled her hair back in a loose ponytail and practically ran to the door, ripping it open. “Shawn, now’s not really a good time.”

          Nevertheless, Shawn pushed his way into her apartment. “Jules, it’s always a good time to watch a movie. Carlton insisted on some Clint Eastwood movie too, so prepare for awesomeness.”

          Carlton stepped inside, automatically eyeing the room. “O’Hara, it smells like…” He shook his head slightly, trailing off. “...are you alright?”

          Gus’ wide eyes probed her too, already looking like he was about to cry. Even Shawn was walking over. “Jeez, Jules, didn’t know you drank so much. You okay?” He asked, his voice quavering slightly. 

          It was too much. She didn’t deserve their sympathy, not when they already loved her so much already.

          Her heart twisted, and she winced. “Yeah. Why don’t you get the movie started, and I’ll just- I need to go to the bathroom real quick.” She pasted a grin onto her face and quickly slipped into the bathroom. Fuck, her eyes were so red.

          Desperately, she splashed water on her face and brushed her hair, trying to look alive. But the life in her eyes was gone, and she couldn’t fix it.

          She leaned against the wall, silently cursing the warm tears that were beginning to fall again. She was so tired, and everything was spinning, and it was just too damn hard to breathe.

          “Juliet! You okay in there? You’ve been in there for like… ten minutes!”

          Now her chest was feeling unbearably tight. She tried to walk forward but tripped on nothing, and collapsed to the floor with a loud thump. She heard a whimper on the other side of the door, and Gus’ terrified, high-pitched voice. “Lassiter!”

          Then there was banging on the door, and Carlton burst through, fury in his eyes. She couldn’t breathe.

          He kneeled down to her level and shook her by the shoulders, practically shouting into her face. “O’Hara, talk to me! What the hell is going on?”

          Shawn was behind Gus in an instant. “Could be cardiac arrest! All the wine bottles-”

          Carlton whipped back to Juliet, his face falling. “O’Hara, why-?”

          “Lassie! CPR! I’m calling 911!” He shouted, pulling out his phone and beginning to pace back and forth in the kitchen.

          Carlton panted, looking back and forth between Gus, who was frozen, and Juliet, who was starting to moan from the tightness in her chest. Ignoring his fear, his face went stoic, as if she were a victim, not his best friend.

          He pulled her by the legs so she was laying on the ground and began to push on her chest, rivaling the tightness within. It hurt, so, so bad. “Carlton-”

          He huffed, face pale despite all the effort he was putting into saving her life. “Save your strength, O’Hara.”

          She found that she didn’t want to.

          Gently, she pushed back a strand of hair that had come undone on his sweaty forehead, listening to Gus’ whimpers, Shawn’s nervous babbling in the other room, and Carlton’s exhausted breaths. It was more calming than she expected.

Chapter Text

          He didn’t know exactly how long he’d been here. Angeline told him he’d been in here for five months, even though it felt more like five years. But he trusted her. Angeline told him everything. About how she set her house on fire, about how she finally showed her mother that she wasn’t her mother’s puppet.

          However, it landed her in the psych ward.

          Shawn’s reason was far more passive, although he kept slipping into the memories of it. The sleeping and not eating for days, the cutting, and the strange dazes he went into. Juliet tried and tried, but with Gus and Carlton dead, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to say that it wasn’t her fault, he just couldn’t go on without them, but he just… couldn’t.

          Angeline could move on, so why couldn’t he?

          Anytime Shawn swore he was out of his slump, he fell back into it again, obsessively drawing Carlton’s pale face exploding, one chunk of his head spraying all over him into another million chunks.

          Well, he used to, but when people started giving him weird looks he drew red flowers instead. Bleeding flowers with sprays of red arcing upwards, only made unreal by the fact that he was forced to use crayon.

          They said they looked like spider lilies, beautiful and elegant. But it was the opposite, really; it put his thoughts out onto paper, made them less stuck inside him, but it also made him stuck in the past. Trapped in his memories, forced to cope.

          But Angeline made him feel better. In public they held hands, insisting it was because they were just friends, and in their room she sat on her bed, Shawn’s head on her lap. If he squinted, she looked a lot like Carlton. An angular face, a grumpy expression, hard eyes that spoke of a thirst for control. She spoke of wanting to cut his legs for him, saying he didn’t do it right. She wanted to sit him on her lap and bury her face in the little nook of his pale neck and slide a blade vertically on his thighs.

          And he wanted it. He wanted her. Wanted Carlton. Wanted Gus, and, and Jules. He was so lonely. She was the last one left, yet he refused to see or even call her. He did;t want to worry her he was better now. Better, at least in the eyes of all the doctors and the nurses and hopefully even Jules.

          But they saw. The other patients, especially Angeline. They knew he was faking, but didn’t care enough to stop it; not even Angeline. Although, if she knew he wanted to leave she would talk about their hugs and hand holding and fantasies. Then, he would certainly be trapped for far longer, with Angeline, with angeline, with angel…

Chapter Text

          Blood was everywhere. All over Shawn’s torso and hands was Carlton’s blood. They had locked themselves into an interrogation room to hide, but it was far too late for Carlton. He had gotten bitten by one of ‘them’ only yesterday, and his aggression had only doubled since then.

          Neither he nor Gus had the heart to kill Lassiter.

          Now Lassiter was panting, far too quickly, and there was a strange white film on his chest, spreading up to his neck. Even Gus wasn’t sure what it was. All they knew was that after a few days, it turned someone aggressive and… bitey. Outside they could hear the screams and sobs of zombie and human, all of them mixed together in a terrifying cacophony. There was ripping and crunching, and all Shawn knew was that they didn’t have much time.

          They couldn’t escape through the tiny window, and even if they could, there would probably be hundreds of them waiting outside.

          Shawn winced as he fingered the wound on his shoulder, knowing he had even less time than Carlton. Solemnly, he looked at Gus.

          In an instant, Gus understood. “Shawn-”

          “Gus, I can’t stay here.”

          “Shawn, listen to me. You are not-”

          “Gus! You listen to me!” He whisper-screamed, grabbing one of Lassiter’s handcuffs and cuffing himself to the table. “If you can, get out of here. If you can’t…” His gaze moved to the gun in Carlton’s holster. The older man wearily pulled out the gun and slid it between all three of them, the sweat on his hand leaving marks on the gun's handle. “...we have enough bullets, I think.”

          “Shawn, what the hell are you talking about?”

          “Gus…” He grinned, shaking his head. “I can’t go on with you. I mean, come on- I got bit, just like Lassie, and look at him.”

          Lassiter emitted a noncommittal groan.

          “If you don’t do it, I will.” Shawn said, his determined eyes boring into Gus’ terrified ones. “I would rather die than hurt you.”

          Gus whimpered and moved the gun closer to Shawn. “I can’t… I can’t do it.”

          Shawn sighed, rubbing his temple with his free hand. Infectious fungus really gave you migraines, huh? “That’s okay, man. That’s okay. Just… you have ten seconds, then I’m doing it. Alright?”

          Gus nodded vehemently, wiping away snot and tears. “I’ll help make a cure, okay? I swear to you, Shawn.”

          “Just survive, okay? I love you. I love you,” He panted, smiling one last time at Gus. Carlton let out a small groan that sounded like it was meant to be reassuring. 

          “Go. I’ll hold down the fort.”

          Gus sniffled and opened the door slightly, checking to see if the coast was clear. He suddenly sprinted outside.

          Shawn gave him ten seconds before pointing the gun at Lassiter, and shutting his eyes. He pulled the trigger, and as the gunshot rang in his ears, he leaned back and put the gun in his mouth.

Chapter Text

          “Lassiter. Lassiter.”

          He was shattered out of his stupor, shivering as the cold air bit into his bare skin. The only soft hands he had ever known stroked his stubbled jaw, comforting him for what would be next. A man that was practically a boy named Elijah, following the rules of their master. Sometimes he hated Elijah, and sometimes he loved him. But most of all, Carlton understood.

          “Hm?” He snorted, looking upward with hazy eyes.

          Elijah smiled and held out a piece of bread with his other hand, smiling sadly. “Hey. He wants to do a live stream today. Think you can handle it?”

          Carlton moaned softly. “I can’t, please, please…”

          “I know,” Elijah whispered sadly. “But you gotta do it, okay? Be strong. I did it once… and look how I turned out. He trusts me now. He loves me.”
Carlton incoherently mumbled, saying where Elijah could put his love.

          “And one day, he’ll love you too.” Elijah ruffled his sweaty hair and walked back upstairs. Carlton opened his mouth to yell something, but then the air was ripped out of him. Elijah never encouraged him before. This must be something… new.

          Dread crawled up his spine. How could it possibly get worse?

          Suddenly, he heard someone’s voice upstairs, loud and flippant. Shawn?

          “Come on, guys! At least get me dinner first!” Then thumping, and a small crack as Shawn Spencer hit the bottom of the stairs, groaning. Then, his eyes immediately brightened, as if nothing had happened at all. “Lassie! There you-”

          The brightness was immediately quenched once Shawn saw the damage.

          Carlton had bruises all over him, and was completely naked except for worn and sticky boxers because Elijah made their captor do it. There were scabs, old and new, scattered on his legs, matching the small, dot-like marks on his arms. He seemed cold and hot, and shivery and sweaty all at once.

          He looked away, shame coloring his pale face. He probably looked… disgusting.

          Shawn muttered something before inching forward, using his legs to propel himself forward along the concrete. His bound hands were wriggling with the effort. “I’ll get us out of here Lassie, okay? Just- just wait a little longer, alri-”

          His voice was cut off by his own scream as a folded up camera mount was dropped on the back of his thighs. Carlton winced, thankful to not hear another crack or crunch. “Just scream as loud as possible, and he’ll, he’ll go through it faster.” He panted, drawing up his body as close to himself as possible.

          He heard thumping as He came downstairs, muttering something about how expensive that camera mount was, and if Shawn broke it, he’d pay.

          It was always their fault.

          Slowly, He set up His camera on the mount. Elijah was close behind, quietly setting down a chair out of sight of the camera. He hoisted Shawn up to his feet and tied Shawn, still gasping for air, onto the chair.

          He came closer, butchers knife in hand. “Did you call him here?”

          Carlton forced himself to stare at the ground, instantly shaking his head. He roared, grabbing Carlton by the chin and yanking him upwards. “Look at me when I speak to you!”

          Dry-sobbing, he stared into His horrible green eyes, and shook his head violently.

          “I don’t believe you.”

          A real sob escaped him, and He swept away, letting go of his chin. He heard raspy babbling come out of his parched throat, but no one paid attention. Even Shawn was staring at the butchers knife and the camera, horror dawning on him as he put the pieces together.

          A minute later, He and Elijah returned. He pleaded, sobbing, but nevertheless, Elijah held down his arm. Elijah cooed over and over as He positioned the knife on Carlton’s wrist, muttering measurements.

          The butchers knife was brought up in the air, then down again. Once, then twice, then it chopped down with a horrible whistling sound. Carlton let out a guttural scream, his back arching from the pain; but He didn’t care. He chopped down, over and over and over, making Carlton listen to the wrenching and crushing and cracking of his own bone as it shattered, until it was finally detached. His wrist was ragged and red and burst open, but it was finally over, even thoug h he could still hear Shawn screaming.

          Lassiter watched as He walked away, perhaps to throw it away.

          Elijah was still cooing in his ear, bandaging up his arm, then planting a kiss, then turning off the camera, then slipping upstairs again… leaving him like a spider to rot in the darkness.

          “I tried… tried to come and save you, but… Lassie?” Shawn whimpered, his voice quavering.

          He made a small, questioning sound. Shawn didn’t respond for a long time, and he thought Shawn was asleep.

          “This is what they’ve been doing to you for… for a month?”

          A month? He’d been gone for a month?

          Carlton nodded, even though Shawn probably wouldn’t see it.

          And he wouldn’t see Shawn for a long time, not until after He started to hold Carlton in His lap, and after the loud, shouting people from outside came, carrying their loud metal gurneys and squeaking shoes. And not until after Carlton realized He was dead, that He had been shot dead by Ellie himself.

          And not until months and months passed and he was still living with Shawn, did he cry. He realized He would never be back, and Ellie would never be back, and he would never be back. That no matter how much he sold pictures of himself online or cried, that nothing would ever be the same.

Chapter Text

          Shawn rubbed his eye, staring at the prescription bottle in his hands. Even with Carlton in the next room over, he still felt so alone.

          It wasn’t fair. Lassie did everything he could to help Shawn.

          And yet, he still felt empty at night. And even after trying to snort his medication and cut himself, he felt the same. But during those few minutes of bliss and emotion and feeling, he felt that he was finally getting his penance.

          After carefully getting off the shared bed so it wouldn’t creak, he started with the Prozac. He’d never really done it before, so he bit it in half and smashed the rest on the bathroom counter, just to experiment. He quickly scrambled around in the bathroom cabinet until he found tweezers. They scraped against the counter as he made tiny lines, but he didn’t mind. Maybe he did want Lassiter to find him.

          For a moment he glanced back at the open doorway; nothing. Nothing but Carlton’s sideways form, snoring softly.

          He covered his left nostril and pushed his right one against the counter. He snorted multiple times, wincing as his nostril started to burn.

          But, no matter; he still had more to do.

          He unwrapped the tiny razor blade that he stored in a Kleenex in his wallet and plopped onto the toilet, letting his boxers slide to his ankles.

          Carefully, he dug the edge of the blade against the top of his thigh, imagining it ripping into the lower layer of skin. Maybe if he got lucky, he’d see white.

          Taking a deep breath, Shawn ripped the blade against his skin. Right after he peered at it, poking and prodding at the small, pale cut to see if he got to the lower layer of skin.

          He didn’t.

          Grumbling, he tried the other thigh. He dug the edge in, this time on the side, and yanked it.

          Nothing.

          He tried, again and again, until he heard the mattress creaking. Instantly he looked up, mid-swipe.

          Carlton was there, rubbing his eyes. “...Spencer, what’re you-”

          Then, the older man saw.

          “Shawn!”

          He stumbled over himself with the effort, gripping Shawn by the shoulders. “Sweet Justice- what happened?”

          Shawn stared at Carlton numbly. He was still holding the blade in his hand. “I don’t know, I guess- I guess I just wanted to.” He mumbled.

          Carlton’s mouth fell open slightly. Then his face turned stone cold stoic, and he grabbed the razor blade, dropping it in the trash. “We’ll discuss this in the morning, for now- for now I’m just going to bandage you up. Okay?”
He nodded, staring at the floor. Okay.

          Lassiter put down the emergency kit on the counter with a loud click, and began to feverishly rummage through it. After a second he found it. 

          Determined, he swabbed down Shawn’s cuts with alcohol (he winced, but Lassiter didn’t notice), gently patted the side of Shawn’s thigh, then began to wrap up the cuts. Luckily, they weren’t that deep.

          “...Lassie, it’s not really not that bad.”

          “Spencer. Shawn. I don’t care what you think. This is bad, and I will get you help,” He said fiercely, before quickly returning to bandaging up Shawn’s legs.

          Finally, Carlton stood up, his blue eyes shaky and slightly terrified. “Alright, um… just… you need anything else?” He asked, suddenly timid.

          “I love you.”

          “I… love you too. Just… go lay down, okay? I’ll be right there.”

          Shawn quietly lay down in bed, listening to the sound of sniffling rising and falling from the bathroom. He had failed to protect Carlton, and now he could hear the older man's quivering tears.

          He was selfish.

          Forcing himself to suppress tears of his own, he rolled over and faced the wall.

          Four minutes passed until Carlton finally came out. His eyes were red and slightly puffy, but he merely lay down behind Shawn as if nothing had happened at all.

          Wordlessly, he covered Shawn with his lanky arms and dug his nose into the crook of Shawn’s neck, unable to hide his ragged breathing.

Chapter Text

          Carlton clicked a stack of papers together on his desk, making them all uniform. Finally, he was done. Shawn had outdone him again, but he didn’t even know where to begin to get to Shawn’s level. For Christ’s sake, Shawn said a dinosaur killed the victim!

          And, as always, Shawn was right. Technically.

          Cursing, Carlton rubbed the bridge of his nose. Fuck, his headache was killing him.

          He reached in his desk for the bottle of Advil he always kept in his desk, but was quickly stopped by his phone buzzing. Sighing, he opened it up.

          It was from… Shawn.

          i loev u man

          A prickle went down Carlton’s spine. Was he drunk? Was it a prank? No, it couldn’t be that Shawn was still at the bar; Guster was far too insistent on his bed time for that. So, he had to be at home. But then… why?

          He put his phone back in his pocket, scowling. Leave it to Shawn to rub it in when Carlton lost.

          However, when he was back in his car, he felt his phone vibrate again. Something felt… wrong. So, against his screaming mind, he picked it up, his eyes widening at it.

          Albrta av

          Carlton blinked at it, that numb prickling clawing its way down his spine again, making him shiver. Something was definitely wrong. Alberta Avenue? Shawn must be-

          He cursed, pushing his key into the ignition. “Shit, shit, shit,” He muttered. One of the people Shawn put away must have caught up to him somehow.

          The tires squealed as he pulled out of the mostly empty parking lot, his eyes wide and his teeth clenched. To anyone else, he would have looked like a madman. The rumbling of his car echoed down the empty city, but it reluctantly screeched to a halt in front of a red light. Yanking his phone out of the cup holder, he called Juliet. It went to voicemail.

          “O’Hara—Spencer’s in trouble. When you hear this, if- if something happens, just tell Vick where I am.” His gaze flicked to the light right as it turned green, and he gunned it. Alberta wasn’t too far away. “And do not go by yourself. Stay safe.” He ordered, before dropping his phone back into the cup holder with a clatter.

          He was there only a few minutes later, parking on the side of the road without even bothering to glance at the parking meter. He glanced around, his eyebrows scrunching together. There was nothing but the soft sound of warm air running their hands through the palm trees and the crickets chirruping. Had this been a prank after all? Or was Spencer… gone?

          Abruptly, a shot sounded, then a scream. Shawn’s scream. He peeled off in that direction, ripping out his phone and calling dispatch. “Shot fired in my area! Bring backup and-” He skidded to a stop in front of the alleyway. Shawn was there, wheezing as he held his stomach in near-darkness, the streetlamp barely bleeding onto the tips of his shoes as he lay against the end of the alleyway. “...and an ambulance. Oh, God.”

          He immediately hung up, crouching over Shawn, unbuttoning the younger man's shirt. “Where did you get shot? Did you see who shot you?”

          But Shawn merely let out a soft wheeze, weakly gesturing behind Carlton. “Behind…”

          Carlton cut him off, laying Shawn on his back. “I got you, Shawn. Just stay-”

          A sharp pain arrowed through his back. He stumbled forward onto his hands and knees, gagging on the scent of his fear and nausea. Burning pain ripped through his chest, and daggers ripped through him every time he tried to take in a breath. Carlton heard quick footsteps running up behind him, but he was too exhausted to turn. He felt a shoe connect with his ribs, sending him sprawling over Shawn’s lap.

          Forcing his lips to move through the pain, he opened them; but nothing came out. A tickle went up from his chest to his throat, and he coughed violently. Flecks of blood sprayed on Shawn’s stomach, and Carlton hazily wondered if it truly was his. Shawn was bleeding out on the concrete, after all, a small pool of blood was slowly collecting beneath him. Who’s to say the blood couldn’t splatter on his stomach?

          The shoe smashed into his ribs, over and over, soft whumps playing on repeat. His gagging grew more wet and crackly, and more and more blood came out each time he coughed.

          Thankfully, he heard the soft skittering of footsteps running off into the distance, and a high-pitched siren. Red and blue lights flashed over him and Shawn, but Carlton only grasped Shawn tighter. It was such a damn chore just to breathe.

          He hugged Shawn tighter, tighter, shivering. He couldn’t let Shawn go, he had to keep him safe, an and not blee ding out.

          Slender hands flipped him over onto his stomach. He tried to breathe in, but he just couldn’t. The people above him yelled and yelled, and as he was sat up against the brick wall his trembling fingers finally let go of Shawn. They wer e wet. They were wet and his chest was wet with warm, warm blood, and he couldn’t breathe, and his vision was going spotty, and oh, how badly he wanted to cling to Shawn like a dead leaf.

          “Get a tube! He’s choking!” Carlton tried to grab the pant leg of the person shouting, but he just couldn’t. Shawn was lifted off the earth, and soon, so was he, his arms splayed out as if he were an angel being lifted to the heavens. But he wasn’t, and neither was Shawn. He was being placed on the smooth fabric of a gurney, safe, sound, and somehow alive.

          Almost instantly, he was lifted into the ambulance, and his head thudded softly as the doors were slammed shut. “Sir-” A woman spoke practically in his face, and he turned away. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t they understand that? “Sir! Open your mouth!” Carlton whimpered softly as the ambulance began to move, and a plush mask was placed over his nose and mouth. When he parted his lips, he could finally breathe.

          They were asking him questions, oh, so many questions that he felt like little Booker, little Booker at the dentist when he was being asked how many sweets he ate, and if he knew how many cavities he had. And the lights were oh, so, so bright that he just couldn’t sleep, no matter how much he wanted to.

          After ten billion years he was finally wheeled out into the hospital, where there were even brighter lights and darker faces. They were all staring at him as he just did his best to breathe, as he did what he was told like a good little boy, so he didn’t get any more cavities.

          They were even more determined as he was moved onto a big table with an even bigger light, and finally, he shut his eyes.

          When he opened his eyes, it was night time, with the orange lamp lights buzzing outside. He could breathe much better now, with only the occasional soft wheeze. He took off the covers to check on his chest, which, unfortunately, caused scrapes on his arms that he didn’t even know he had to flare up, sharp pain like tiny glass needles now pulsating on his elbows and forearms. Carlton lifted the hospital gown slightly, revealing clean bandages.

          How long had he even been here?

          Then, he remembered Shawn. Shawn, who he had last seen bleeding out, too exhausted to even speak.

          He instantly shot up, before agonizing pain ripped through his chest. He fell backward, wheezing once more. He stared at a digital clock above the door, and bright red numbers glared at him through the darkness; 1:03.

          Carlton shut his eyes, realizing how goddamn exhausted he was. He didn’t know how long he’d been here for, but Shawn sure as hell wouldn’t be awake at this hour, especially because of his injuries. He may as well sleep some more…

          Click.

          Carlton winced, and opened his eyes to the blinding white hospital lights. Shawn was right at the door, in a wheelchair, but still at the door. “Hey, man.”

          “Shaw- Shawn?” He rasped.

          “Heard you were awake, and, er, wheeled right over here.”

          Carlton squinted at the wheelchair. “How, how the hell did that happen?”

          Shawn spun around and backed up so that he was next to Carlton, and smirked. Leave it to Shawn to quickly discover how to maneuver a wheelchair. “Turns out the guy shot me in the spine. I can’t walk for a while, obviously.” He cocked his head at Carlton’s terrified face, then snickered. “Don’t worry, it’s not permanent.”

          “That’s good. Good.” He said, before flushing. Where the hell did all this stuttering come from? “How long have I been out?”

          “Week and a half. Your lungs filled with blood so they put you under to help your lungs heal more. Sounds better though!” Shawn grinned, putting a hand on Carlton’s chest.

          “Are, are you seriously feel- feeling me up right now?” He growled. Sweet Justice, how do I stop this stuttering?

          “Yes.” Shawn said slyly, before moving his hand away, his face taking on a more subdued note. “Are you sure you’re better? I mean, the stuttering- that’s not totally unexpected, because you stopped breathing for three minutes-”

          Carlton zoned out, allowing his brain to fill the empty space. All he wanted to do was watch Shawn talk again. And yet, that image of Shawn, sitting against the brick wall, a pool of blood beneath him and more blood wreathed around his head kept haunting him. He reached forward, wanting to see if this was real. If Shawn was real, and a part of Carlton’s soul didn’t just die that day, and to see if his mind wasn’t just filling in the gaps he was desperate for.

          “...and holy shit, Lass, I was so scared! I tried to warn you, but-”

          Shut up. Just shut up. His fingers met Shawn’s lightly stubbled face, and the younger man’s mouth seemed to snap shut, stunned into silence. Carlton let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

          He caressed Shawn’s cheek and jaw, and the younger man melted into it. Carlton’s hand moved down, down, onto Shawn’s neck, shoulder, arm, then hand. His hand settled there, intertwining.

          For once, Shawn seemed to take the hint, and he remained silent, his hand gripping Carlton’s. They sat together for a long, long time, until the stars disappeared and the sun rose again.

Chapter Text

          Shawn moaned softly as he awoke in his bed, listening to the sounds of the outside world already beginning to stir. Ever since the Patriotism Act, there had only been endless, endless noise. His TV tried to turn on, but he’d destroyed it, so only a few crackles sounded before it went dead. It was too loud, too… distracting. It hurt his brain to look at it, even though he could never really look away. It was hard to look away from anything anymore.

          He winced as the little metal bean surgically attached to his ear began to squawk, droning on and on about the new, trendy implant going around town. Don’t you want it? Doesn’t it seem so satisfying? So alive? Don’t you want friends?

          I can be your friend.

          He groaned and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He needed to go to work. If he went to work, everything would be okay. Even though Gus, Juliet, and even Carlton were gone, maybe he could get a case. Even just a small case, one that could stimulate him. He didn’t need the implant.

          It was hot, unbearably hot, and his stinging eyes and burning nose because of the Prozac he snorted didn’t help.

          He walked into the Psych office, wiping off the familiar sweat. Most days were like this, completely and utterly boring. He wished he had someone, anyone by his side right now.

          Like me?

          No. He needed someone real, someone who didn’t consume water and air like a greedy beast. He needed sunshine and air and laughter, but all of it was soured by the very thing that promised them that.

          Still, he wandered towards his computer. He told himself he was checking his messages; but, of course, there was nothing. Gus and Juliet hadn’t spoken in two months, having gone when Juliet got pregnant, and they couldn’t get rid of it here. And Carlton, gone since a few weeks ago. Carlton was the reason Shawn stayed in the first place, and now, he was gone, too.

          It was as if they abandoned him.

          Don’t you want me?

          Shawn sighed, moving his mouse towards the tab he’d had open since he first heard about it, and clicked on ‘Buy’. He knew he shouldn’t, but it was just too damn tempting, and he was just too damn lonely.

          Three days later, a tiny package came, plopped perfectly in front of his apartment door. He picked it up and snuck back into his apartment, immediately ripping the box open once he got to the living room. He’d gotten surgery done only yesterday to get rid of his last implant, and his ear still hurt, but he needed to hear someone’s loving voice.

          It was silver and curved so it could fit in his ear, with a small, bean-shaped speaker that was only slightly larger than his last implant, and a disc behind the bean, made to cup around the entrance to his ear. Shawn pressed a button on the inside, and small, root-like tendrils wiggled out of tiny holes in the implant. He could faintly hear the whirring of an artificial mind, preparing for the perfect way to fit into his ear.

          He put it to his ear, and the small tendrils tickled the inside of his ear, tantalizingly soft. He could faintly hear its robotic voice, whispering.

          Feel loved with L.AI. Get a new partner with L.AI. Love freely with L.AI. Love freely with L.AI. Love freely with…

          He took a deep breath, and inserted it into his ear.

          Great, electronic crackling filled his ear as the tendrils dove into his ear, tickling his ear canal. He coughed with reaction, then winced as it stabbed into his brain. An image flashed in his mind, over and over, of three dots bouncing up and down one at a time.

          Connecting. Connecting…

          Tears filled Shawn’s eyes as he collapsed to the floor and crawled under his desk, pain throbbing throughout his cranium. Buzzing ripped through his head, but just as he began to sob, it stopped. A soft, yet masculine voice filled his head, only slightly different from Carlton’s voice.

          Hello. What’s your name?

          “Shawn,” He panted, staring at the bottom of his desk. An image of a lighthouse sweeping over dark waters filled his mind.

           Is there any reason why you’re under the desk?

          “The implant hurt, that’s all.” He said, gathering his wits and crawling out from under the desk. It was worse than the last time he got an implant, but that one was required. Shawn kicked the box into a corner, not caring where it slid. “I gotta go to work anyway.”

          You’re a surveillance guard, correct?

          Images of burning vines and overgrown tree roots surrounding Santa Barbara flashed through his mind, and he faintly smelled pine. “Yeah. Guess so.”

          Do you believe you do a good job?

          He paused as he put on his designated white jumper with the red, eye-shaped badge attached to its breast. No. He hated it. He hated how he had to report if someone rested for too long. However, usually, he could turn a blind eye. “Yeah, I think so.”

          I can hear your loud thoughts. It’s okay to not lie, Shawn.

          “You won’t turn me over to the police?” He asked, smoothing back his hair in the mirror and brushing his teeth with a jug of water.

          Of course not, Shawn. I love you.

          But as he stared into the slightly cracked mirror, he knew it was lying. And yet, he turned away from the mirror, pretending it wasn’t. “I love you, too.”

          The bus ride to the outskirts of Santa Barbara wasn’t long. It never was, even though the air was sour and jungle-like. When he was dropped off at the small office, he immediately went to his locker to grab a few snack bars. Maybe he could hand off a few to the less fortunate.

          You don’t like to talk much, do you?

          Shawn made a noncommittal noise as he grabbed two snack bars, one for him, and one for a kid he saw recently, working on the largest trunk they’d seen so far, nicknamed Big Jack. It broke his heart to see a teenager breathing in the ash and dust of work far too big for him. A slow death for a soft soul.

          He didn’t want his eidetic memory anymore.

          You’re special, you know.

          “I am?” He said softly, leaning his forehead against the cold, sobering metal of the locker.

          You do as you’re told. You’re perfect, and smart, and kind, and we need you. I need you.

          His heart panged hearing something he hadn’t heard in months, and he sniffled. Soft digital fingers buzzed against his arm.

          I know things seem hard now, but you’ll be alright. With me, you’ll be alright.

          He shivered and walked outside into the burning sun, the citizens of Santa Barbara already bent over the brush and roots threatening to invade their town with fire, pruners and axes. It was necessary work, of course, to maintain not only the shopping malls and data centers, but the integrity of Santa Barbara. If they lay around all day and allowed nature to take over, what did that say about their town?

          Hours passed and Shawn was finally allowed to take his leave. Inside, he was handed his daily pay, and finally allowed to leave. The voice in his brain was silent for once, occasionally speaking of facts about the plants he saw. Reluctantly, he stored the information into his brain.

          Shawn took one last glance at the endlessly turning cog of toiling people, before slipping onto the evening bus. There was no time or place for speaking; only work and necessary relaxation. The voice switched on again with a soft crackle, a digital breath.

          How was your day, honey?

          “Honey? That’s a new one.” He said, laying his forehead against the glass, watching as the foggy sunset disappeared.

          I’m just trying things out.

          “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” His eyelids grew heavy, and he forcefully banged his head against the glass to stay awake.

          I understand that you may feel overwhelmed. I’m here to help you, Shawn. There are people that care about you. Tell me what’s wrong.

          “There’s no one left.” He said numbly. The voice didn’t have anything to say to that, but he could feel its electric fingers brushing against his arms. He knew he shouldn’t trust it, yet, he could feel his consciousness slipping away under the invisible gaze of L.AI. 

          I’ll tell you when you need to get off the bus. Don’t worry, just sleep…

          It cooed softly in his ear and held him, exactly how he told it Carlton used to hold him.

          I have you, Shawn. You don’t need them anymore. You can be tired with me. Gloves at Walgreens for 40% off. Spend and save. Don’t worry about Carlton, Shawn, he left you. I’ll never leave you. I love you. I love you. You’re so precious to me. To us. Like the 3,406,702 other users we love.

          It whispered in his ear, soft as a cloud as he drifted off. The soft hands weren’t even close to what he needed, but it was better than nothing, right?

          Get L.AI Ultra and save up to 30%, with no ads.

          When Shawn awoke, he was on a scratched-up metal table in a dingy basement. People wearing multi-colored masks stood around him, one of them holding ominous, large tweezers. The voice was muttering faintly in his ear, subdued for now, unable to even realize that his limbs were handcuffed to each table leg.

          He jerked against the handcuffs, muscles straining with barely any effort. “You got me good, huh?” He mumbled, his heart beating rabbit-fast as a gloved hand pressed down on his chest. “Take a man to dinner first.” His body was too sluggish and murky, and whenever he looked around too fast, the darkness and the walls blurred together.

          The hand was big and strong, and the owner of that hand pulled down his mask and stared down at him with familiar, hard blue eyes. “Shawn. Stay down. We’re helping you.”

          “Lassie?” Tears filled Shawn’s eyes, and he would have stroked the older man’s arm if he could. “I missed you.”

          The voice’s babbling was louder now, angry and glitching and no longer even close to human.

          “I didn’t leave you on purpose, Shawn. I would never, ever do that. I love you. I love you.”

          Another gloved hand, smaller and more gentle, in the way a surgeon would handle a knife instead of a gardener with a flower, brushed against his right ear. Their voice was gruff and no-nonsense, holding pliers with their right hand. “Step away, Lassiter.”

          Carlton’s eyebrows scrunched together and he pulled his mask back up, disappearing into the darkness. “It’ll be over soon, Shawn.”

          “Wait,” He said quietly, his dulled eyes reaching out in the dark, and finding nothing. More gloved hands descended on him and an overhead light was switched on, blinding him. His head was forced to the side, buzzing electronic ear exposed, and he realized what they wanted. “Wait! Don- don’t!”

          A pained, electronic shriek echoed in his head as the pliers struck gold, digging into and around the silver bean in his ear. Images of cracked skulls on a dirty, weed-grown battlefield, brown blood long-dried flashed through his head. A lighthouse cracking and splitting in half, a terrified woman with bruises on her neck taking off her shirt in a dingy cell, one of two twin towers being smashed into with billowing flames and smoke. Scattered black bodies fell limply from the top floors like stones sinking, all in one second.

          The robotic voice was screaming with him, an awful, unnatural crescendo peeling out of their mouths as the implant was ripped out of his head. Each root in his head was ripped out agonizingly slow, but he couldn’t even squirm to escape it. The hands that held him down were cold, their breathing above him slow and labored.

          The bean came out of Shawn’s head, wires snapping from his brain, to the inside and outside of his ears. When they finally ripped out the implant, he saw there were hundreds of tiny wires that normally wouldn’t be seen if there were only one, covered in blood and mucus.

          He could feel the tears on the table wetting the back of his neck and cheek.

          The shock waned, and throbbing, angry pain came rushing back, causing him to cry out in pain. It hurt.

          …

          It hurt. “Please,” he moaned.

          …

          But nothing responded. He could no longer hear the comforting buzzing, and no matter how much he craved it, there was merely the soft crinkle of his old lover being tossed into the trash.

          A week later, he was up and walking again. His stagnancy wasn’t mostly attributed to the silver implant being ripped out of his ear and brain, but Carlton gladly covered for him.

          However, he was… different now. Not just in body, but in mind. He constantly stared off into space, regardless if Carlton shook him. He bumped into things constantly, creating bruises on his now-pale skin. Shawn could sometimes even see the regret and sadness plain on Carlton’s face, but, somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

          The day he left Santa Barbara forever was with Carlton, reluctantly hand in hand. Over the last week the older man had planted a small seed of guilt inside him, and it was waiting to burst out. He wanted to apologize over and over, saying how sorry he was for not searching for Carlton more, for replacing him with a silver implant.

          In fact, he had tried. But Carlton brushed him off, helping to pack for their group of seven’s trip to Canada, where it was too cold for jungle trees or bureaucratic dystopia. Shawn wasn’t exactly sure what Carlton was afraid of; unless it was him Carlton was afraid of. But it couldn’t be. Sure, he was different now, but he was still Shawn. Right?

          The first several days of their trip was uneventful, except for the occasional thwack of obstacles being taken down with an axe, and quiet, paranoid nights. In fact, all of their nights were quiet until the sixth, when Shawn finally sucked in a breath and sidled closer to Carlton in front of the fire.

          They were all eating a doe Carlton had shot with a bow and arrow, something that would’ve stirred Shawn’s loins before all of this happened. There wasn’t exactly nothing there, but he was too tired to feel it.

          He waited until everyone else was asleep, even though he had a feeling Carlton’s hesitance didn’t seem to have anything to do with shame. “Lass?” He said softly, willing his fingers to meet with Carlton’s.

          “What?” The older man asked, his voice hard and guarded.

          Shawn forced his heart to fill with steel. It broke his heart to hear Carlton so defensive around him, but he couldn’t just run away. Not this time.

          “I’m sorry.” He looked away, his other hand not touching Carlton’s fidgeting with his shirt. “For… for not looking for you hard enough. For… everything. You just, you just disappeared, and I didn’t find you-”

          Carlton grabbed Shawn’s arm, instantly cutting off his babbling. “Wait a damn second, Spencer. You can’t blame yourself for everything.” Shawn looked up into Carlton’s eyes, and froze. They were… kind. Confused. 

          “I can’t?”

          Lassiter swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he glanced away. “I could’ve looked for you sooner. But I… I wanted to be absolutely certain…”

          Shawn’s arm fell out of Carlton’s grasp, and he scooted closer, staring up into the older man's big, blue eyes.

          “...I wanted to be certain that Guster, O’Hara, and your father were safe. Or, at least, to know their status. I thought you’d be okay… and… I’m sorry for not getting you sooner. I just- I abandoned you.”

          Shawn cocked his head, quiet for a long time. God, how he wanted to laugh. Over here he was worried about abandoning Carlton, and Carlton was worrying about it being the other way around. How silly and strange they were. Finally, he grinned. It hurt to be with other, real people a lot of the time, but it was no invisible touch nor whispering voice from a silver implant, and it was as real as the sun or sky. And he wouldn’t take anything else.

          “I forgive you.”

Chapter Text

          It crept through the house that was full to the brim with boxes, scenting the air for prey. It had been set loose here, offered a gunpowder scent. To kill. To maim. And as it crept closer to the bedroom, the sound of snoring and the strangely familiar gunpowder smell made it curl its lip in anticipation. It was hungry, naked, and afraid.

          Its pale, bony body leapt silently from floorboard to floorboard, almost dancing on it. This place was familiar, somehow.

          It peeked into the bedroom, its brown and matted tail flicking. The sweet gunpowder smell was so strong here that it could hold its breath and still smell it. Gunpowder was everywhere, from the wallpaper to the clothes and to the… bed. The bed, which was full of people. There was the pale, salt and pepper gunpowder man, his victim, the dark, short-haired man that smelled of sterility and vanilla, and the tan, blonde woman, who smelt of flowers. It all turned into a familiar, warm smell, one that tempted it to jump in and never leave.

          But, no. It had a job to do. It didn’t remember anything before it was transformed several months ago, but it was promised to it that this was its purpose. Maiming and killing, merely to keep the world running smoothly. It was in a perfect place.

          But it didn’t feel so perfect.

          They were all so vulnerable and soft and inviting, and it had to ruin it. Their smell was so entrancing, and it felt a shiver run down its knobbly spine with each shift and snore.

          Maybe it could stay here, just for a little bit. Besides, it couldn’t kill the victim without alerting the other two; it needed to get the victim alone.

          So, it curled up under the strangers’ bed, turning soft and small hearing the strangers above him. It was like it was meant to be here.

          It awoke because of a girlish shriek from above, hitting its head against the bed frame. The vanilla man was running away, still shrieking, and the sweet woman and gunpowder man were pulling guns seemingly out of nowhere. “Freeze! Who are you?” The sweet woman shouted, all vulnerability gone in an instant. It instinctively squeaked, eyes wide and terrified. How did they find it?

          The gunpowder man cocked his head. “Must be an animal. Are you absolutely sure Guster said it was a man?”

          The sweet woman hesitated, before lowering her gun slightly. “Yes, he said it looked like a man. But I don’t… why would they attack us?”

          “Must be related to a case, and they don’t want us finding out the truth. Must mean we’re close.” It could practically hear the grin on the man above, and crawled backward into the back of the underside of the bed. Oh, god, it had fucked up now. It should have been in and out, right after killing and consuming the target. “Get out now, or we’ll shoot!”

          “Carlton!” The sweet-smelling woman exclaimed.

          Regardless of whether or not Carlton was justified to be angry at it, it crawled out backward to the floor. Perhaps if it temporarily surrendered then ran away, it would live to serve for another day.

          It peeked out from over the bed, its dog-like ears twitching constantly as it scented the air. The vanilla-smelling man was returning, albeit less frightened than last time.

          The sweet-smelling woman, perhaps if she weren’t trained, would have dropped her gun. Her face was drawn up with concern and anger, terror seeping through every pore. “It’s… Shawn.”

          The gunpowder-scented man, tall and aggressive as he was, froze completely. “What?”

          Seconds later, the sweet blonde woman crouched and lifted the blanket that was obscuring the underside of the bed, her mouth working silently. A strange memory flashed in its mind. Juliet. Her name was Juliet, and she bites the insides of her cheeks. “Shawn, what happened?”

          It merely stared at her, unsure of how to respond. No one ever asked it anything. 

          Assuming it was safe now, it crawled out from under the bed. Its eyes darted around the room; Juliet was standing there with her arms crossed, Carlton’s gun was gone (but he looked as if he still wanted to grab it), and the vanilla-scented man was standing in the doorway. They all stared at its pale form, its ribs and eyes sticking out. The bruises littered on its body were on full display, and just for that moment, it realized how stick-thin it must seem.

          Juliet gasped softly. “What- what do you think happened to him?”

          Carlton glanced at the vanilla-scented man, hands on his hips. “Guster-”

          Gus’ bottom lip trembled slightly and he walked forward. “Shawn, what happened? You were gone for, like, seven months, and now you’re just-” He let out a choked whimper, and Juliet quietly shushed him, gently rubbing his back. “You’re here, dirty and- and naked!”

          It watched them quietly, tail swishing back and forth. It searched its perfect memory, but strangely found nothing.

          “And you have a tail.” Carlton muttered, grimacing. “Sweet Justice. And your legs. Who did this to you?”

          It stared at each of them, from Gus and Juliet’s worried faces to Carlton’s determined one, and merely blinked. It got to its feet and walked past each of them, the tension in the room warm and palpable. It angled its ears backward to hear them as it walked away, eyes darting all over the room for an escape.

          “Was he… kidnapped?” Gus offered, voice still trembling.

          “Obviously. He has bruises all over him, and those… ears and tail. They look… real. I don’t know how he could’ve done that to himself.” Carlton sighed. “Are they real? I mean…”

          It angled its ears forward again, creeping towards a second-floor window. They wouldn’t notice if it just slipped outside, right? Guilt threaded its way through its chest as it imagined leaving them behind, wet-eyed and terrified, before pure terror ripped through it as it imagined what its Creator would be like if it ran away. Jesus, what was it thinking? Staying here? With people who were practically strangers?

          It slid the window open with its furry hands, the paw pads catching on the screen. It couldn’t kill Carlton, not when he clearly valued it so much.

          Its ears flattened against his head, thinking of how its Creator would punish it, the phantom taste of a metal bit on its tongue.

          “Son of a bitch!”

          It instinctively whipped around, and let out a high-pitched yip at the sight of Carlton rushing right at it, eyes wide and angry.

          “Goddamn it! Get back here!” Carlton growled. It wasted no time hopping up on the windowsill, the claws on its elongated, paw-like feet scrabbling wildly. But, no matter how many hours or days it was trained, Carlton was too fast. It felt strong arms grab it around the midsection, pulling it backwards.

          Both of them tumbled to the floor, struggling for dominance. Gus ran over and slammed the window shut, locking it once more, while Juliet was running over to help.

          “O’Hara! Cuff him!” Carlton barked, much to Gus’ dismay.

          “But-”

          “He’s not himself! Just do it!”

          Gus cringed as Carlton slid Juliet a pair of handcuffs. Finally, it was wrestled to the floor, and as Carlton held it down, Juliet handcuffed its furry hands behind its back.

          The three of them fell away, panting and red-faced as it writhed on its stomach, barking and growling. It thrashed uselessly, growing more and more aggressive, knowing that its Creator would find it again, and punish it. Oh, god, it would be punished, and punished terribly.

          A few minutes later, and it was still fighting the handcuffs. Carlton sighed and smoothed back his hair, muttering something about calling someone. It whipped towards Carlton, growling, pleading for him to not tell anyone about its whereabouts; but no one understood it, for it was an animal.

          Finally, it went limp.

          Gus, shaking, sat down in front of it.

          It did its best threatening glare, but he wasn’t even slightly perturbed by it. He was completely determined now, determined to save it. “Shawn…” He cleared his throat, looking away. “...Shawn, I don’t know who did this to you, but they can’t get you. You’re safe here, and we’re not gonna let anyone hurt you. I don’t… I have no idea what even happened to you, or why, but we’re gonna help you. So just… sit tight for now, okay?”

          It stared at Gus for a long time, brown eyes penetrating each other’s. Slowly, it nodded.

Chapter Text

          Shawn grinned woozily, raising his glass along with everyone else. He couldn’t even hear what their suspect, Charles Ross, was saying. It was something about… evading taxes. Did he hear that right?

          He turned to Carlton for confirmation, but the older man was staring straight ahead, his face even stonier than usual because of the black and silver masquerade mask he was wearing.

          But as he whipped his head around to look back at Charlie, his vision blurred.

          That can’t be right.

          Shawn rubbed his head, the heat of his entire body and the people around him making him want to rip off his clothes and run out of the room, butt naked. But, of course, he couldn’t; Charlies was a well-sought after criminal, and they definitely couldn’t let this one go, no matter how much his arms felt like worn-out cotton, and no matter how hot he was.

          God, he was melting.

          He tugged at his collar, his eyes growing heavier by the second. He so, so badly wanted to crash into his bed and stay there for ten years, sipping on honey and water to cure his sandpaper throat.

          Thankfully, a few minutes later, Charles stopped speaking.

          And headed straight for them.

          Shawn pasted on what he hoped was a charismatic grin, and stayed close to Carlton’s side.

          Suddenly, Charles was intercepted by an old friend, and Shawn let go of Carlton’s sleeve with a soft breath of relief.

          Carlton hissed, clearly resisting the urge to cuff the other man on the head. “Spencer, what the hell happened?”

          Shawn wobbled on his feet, grabbing Carlton’s sleeve again. “I dunno, I think I might be… sick…”

          “Christ,” The older man said under his breath, dragging Shawn away. “I don’t know what the hell’s the matter with you, but you need to fix it. And fast.” Carlton pushed Shawn into a side hallway, his eyes flicking over Shawn’s entire body. “Why would you come here if you’re sick?”

          “I- I thought I’d be fine.” He panted, shutting his eyes and leaning the back of his head against the wall. Hot air bubbled up his throat, making drool fill his mouth. “M’ gonna throw up.”

          Carlton cursed, dragging Shawn to the nearest bathroom by the collar. He practically threw Shawn over the toilet and stood behind Shawn, crossing his arms and staring at the tiled wall. Eventually, Shawn staggered to his feet, wiping his mouth. “M’ okay now, Lass- I’m ready to go.” Carlton scowled.

          “I’m not going to let you fuck this up.”

          Shawn whined, pushing past Carlton to go back to the ballroom floor. “Oh, come on—can’t you be not uptight, just for once?”

          Carlton merely grumbled and followed Shawn back to the ballroom floor; at least until Shawn felt strong hands push him onto a loveseat. “Spencer, I cannot allow you to jeopardize this case. You are staying here, and that’s final.”

          “Lassieee…” He whined, but Carlton merely put a finger to his lips.

          “I’ll get it done.”

          Shawn didn’t say anything, even as Carlton’s loafers clicked on the floor as he slowly disappeared back into the ballroom. His body felt so heavy. Silently, he thanked Carlton for ignoring his pride and letting his tired body fall… right… here. He knew he should get up and contribute something, but his mind was screaming at him to rest.

          He curled up on the loveseat, heavy eyelids finally flickering shut. The ball still went for a few more hours. Maybe if he just took a quick nap…

          He woke up to the smell of smoke and vanilla. Everything was so hot, but he couldn’t tell if it was the blazing fire at his feet or the fever.

          He opened his eyes, coughing. There was smoke on the ceiling. The entire hall was ablaze with angry, writhing flames, singing his hands and face. But as Shawn sat up and planted his feet on the floor, the entire world shifted. He grabbed the edge of the loveseat so he didn’t topple over, and groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. He was so tired. His chest was aching and he kept coughing and every single part of him was burning with flames, inside and out.

          He collapsed back on the loveseat, panting and gasping. 

          No air came.

          Shawn knew all he had to do was stand up, but that one, simple action just wasn’t possible. What caused the fire? Why hadn’t he woken up? Was this planned? Dozens of similar questions flowed through his mind like water, begging to be answered.

          But it was too late.

          Water. I need water.

          But he couldn’t even get air.

          Suddenly, the door across from the loveseat burst open, causing the flames to crackle anew. “Shawn!”

          Shawn watched as Carlton, in all his blurry and burnt glory, swooped him up in his arms and carried him into the ballroom. It was like watching a stranger as he watched Carlton run from room to room, his eyes wide and horrified and oh so blue. Just a few hours ago the older man was leaving him on a loveseat to deal with his fever alone, and now he was risking his life to save Shawn.

          Shawn.

          “Shawn!”

          He opened his eyes for maybe the sixth time. They were out of the building now, and the air was cool and burning fresh. “What?” He asked, his voice a dark crackle. His lungs were whistling, and now everything was too cold. Despite the fact that he was just in a burning building and that he was wearing a tuxedo, he couldn’t stop shivering.

          “Charles, he- he set the building on fire-” He broke off into a coughing fit, before gently placing Shawn onto the stretcher. “-we got him. We got him, Shawn. I’m sorry.”

          “For what?” Shawn mumbled, allowing himself to be strapped into the stretcher, even though all he wanted was to fly forward and hold Carlton. He looked so small and defeated, and his blue eyes were wet.

          “For leaving you there.”

          He watched, silent, his eyelids failing him and his head haloed by the stretcher's backrest as he was put into the ambulance, knowing that no matter what, he would forgive Carlton.

Chapter Text

          The slap echoed throughout the room, and he woke up with a shout.

          When Henry finally came to, he realized he was tied to a chair in a cobwebby, dingy cellar, surrounded by people in black robes. There was a singular light bulb above him, and black paint was painted in a wide circle around him. Two people in white robes stood in front of him just outside the circle, one smaller, one larger. The people in white robes wore ornate silver masks, and the people who wore black robes had golden masks, the larger one with a moon engraving on their forehead, and the smaller one with a sun engraving on theirs.

          “What’s all this?” Henry said, glaring around the room. His son disappeared 9 months ago, and he suspected these freaks had something to do with it.

          The larger person in the black robe walked forward and slipped his hood off. Blue eyes bore into Henry’s soul as the strange man spoke. “Hello, Mr. Spencer.”

          “Do I know you?” Henry growled, looking the man up and down. He didn’t even seem remotely familiar.

          “No. But we-” He gestured to the group of people circled around the paint, eerily calm. “-know you. And I’m afraid it’s not for a very good reason. It’s about your daughter.”

          Henry cocked his head and shifted his feet, utterly confused. Daughter? “I don’t have a daughter.”

          The man remained completely silent, as if he were the one completely in the dark about what the hell was going on. Then, he chuckled, putting his arm around the smaller person in the black cloak. “She lied to everyone around her, even herself. She’s a wonderful liar. I wonder who she got it from.

          Henry shut his eyes, breathing in and out slowly. He needed to calm down. Getting pissed wouldn’t get him anywhere. Certainly they were loonies, but almost anyone could be reasoned with, right? Steadily, he opened his eyes. “Where is my son?”

          The man in the cloak placed his hand on the other person’s cheek. “You don’t recognize your own daughter?” He tsked, wagging his finger at Henry. 

          Henry scoffed, glancing over at the other cloaked figure. Daughter? Shawn would never allow anyone to call him that. But when he saw the small, fearful brown eyes, he traveled back in time to when Shawn was still his little girl, crying in her cradle from the thunder. “Oh, God.” He muttered, his entire body freezing. “What did they do to you?”

          “Just showed her the truth. She was born this way. She was meant to carry a child. A holy one. God’s child. And you are the sacrifice.”

          “Christ.” Henry grumbled, in awe at how insane all these people were. This was what they were doing to his son? Manipulating and torturing him? Why?

         The man raised his arms, shrugging off his cloak to reveal a white suit. “Begin!”

         The people in white cloaks suddenly began to dance as if they were mini ballerinas in a jewellery box, and their leader had pressed the button to turn them on. Their cloaks whirled around violently, as they danced around Henry, around and around, as their leader began to chant. Shawn was dancing with the others now, terrifyingly silent. Usually, Henry would tell Shawn to shut up, but now, he’d do anything just to hear Shawn speak.

          “Shawn-”

           All at once, it stopped. The cloaks stopped whirling around, the leader stopped chanting, and Shawn stopped right in front of Henry. Instantly he pulled a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at Henry’s forehead.

          The gun cocked, and Henry’s breathing stopped.

          “...Shawn. Listen to me.” For the first time in years, his voice wavered. “You don’t have to do this. Think about it. He’s using you. You wouldn’t kill me, Shawn. Just- just slow down and think, please.”

          “Close your eyes,” Shawn whispered. The cold gun pressed against Henry’s forehead, and he did as he was told.

          “Shawn, I love you. I know I wasn’t the best dad, but- but I love you. Always have, always will.”

          Henry waited for the gun to go off. He almost wished it did. All he could hear was Shawn’s sniffling, and it made his heart ache.

          However, before he could start pleading for his life again, the door behind them burst open. “SBPD, get on the ground!” Men in black descended into the cellar, illuminating it with their bright-white flashlights. Henry turned, wincing as the light burrowed into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. “There’s a hostage!” Carlton shouted, and the light drifted away from his eyes.

          The lights splayed everywhere, landing on some of the cult members, their leader, and Shawn.

          “Wait!” He spluttered, leaning so far out of his chair that he swore he’d fall out of it. “Don’t shoot Shawn!”

          “Shawn’s here?” Carlton searched the room, his eyes wild and terrified. “Where?”

          Henry watched as all the cult members in the white cloaks squished themselves into the corners, their hands raised and their voices chittering fearfully. He stared at Shawn as he was untied, and when he looked back, Carlton’s gun was lowering, realization coming into his eyes. “Shawn?” His voice was naked and broken, and for just a moment, he froze.

          The cult leader searched the room, his eyes flinty and up to no good. Henry opened his mouth to say something, but it was too late.

          The leader shoved Shawn down onto his knees and pulled a gun out of his robes, his blue, blue eyes hungry and wild. But he was too slow. Henry burst out of the ropes and barreled into the other man and a wooden support beam, snarling. “Get away from my son, you bastard!” The gun flew out of the man’s hand and landed on the floor with a clack, and Henry let out a sigh of relief. His arm hurt like hell and was probably broken now, but at least his son was safe. Physically.

          SWAT fell upon them like flies, yanking the leader up to his feet. They dragged his limp body out of the basement, and, eventually, the other cult members followed.

          Shawn almost followed them.

          Henry placed his hand on Shawn’s shoulder, panting. “Shawn.”

          Shawn turned around, his eyes wide like a deer’s, his body trembling.

          Henry hugged him. By god, this may have been the worst thing Shawn’s ever been through, and he wouldn’t stand by and let him handle it alone. Not anymore. 

          When they finally pulled away from each other, they were practically alone, except for a few people waiting for them. Henry pulled off Shawn’s mask with utmost precision, revealing red eyes, a few cuts on his face, and- and, oh god, all the bruises. “Shawn…” His son didn’t respond, merely blinking away the tears with a blank expression.

          Shawn suddenly fell onto one knee, rummaging in the pitch-black ground for something.

          The gun.

          “Shawn, let’s go.” Henry urged, uneasiness roiling in his stomach. Ever so gently, he placed his hand on Shawn’s shoulder, and he flinched.

          A minute later, Shawn stood up, but he wasn’t quite ready to leave. He placed a broken piece of wood on Henry’s broken arm and began to make a splint. He was humming tunelessly, as if this were just another day for him.

          When he finally finished, Henry put his arm around Shawn’s shoulder, shoving his tears deep down. He didn’t yet know what they did to Shawn, but it didn’t matter. He would do anything to bring his son back.

Chapter Text

          A gunshot rang out in the distance along with a young man’s scream, and Carlton swore his heart stopped. It sounded too much like Shawn. He shivered from inside his too-small bush, hoping to Lady Justice it wasn’t, and that he was safe from these maniacs hunting them, along with three other people. Well, two.

          Not too far away he heard a woman scream, then six shots. “Sweet Justice,” he murmured, curling up in the bush even further. Shaking slightly, he fingered the collar on his neck. What if they had trackers in them? Would they really be that cruel? Make them all believe they had a chance when they didn’t?

          Carlton grunted softly as he dug his fingers into the collar, testing it. “Fuck,” He whispered. It was metal.

          Slowly, he adjusted his body so that he was on his hands and knees, and carefully began to crawl through the underbrush. It was tall and had many ferns that softly brushed against his neck and ribs, but barely hid his lanky form. He opened his mouth, tasting the wet, nearly swampy air, and breathed in and out, in and out. He didn’t hear any footsteps yet, so maybe they were walking away from him. That was good. He could deal with that.

         The sun was dying out, leaving only inky blackness and the chirruping crickets that were slowly coming back to life, the gunshots barely affecting them.

          I just have to survive the night. He reassured himself, curling up in the underbrush next to a willow tree. If Carlton weren’t being hunted for sport, he would think this was beautiful. He didn’t see many stars in the city, but here, a few were already poking through the dark sky, the former dusk melting into night.

          Then, he heard rustling nearby, only 50 feet away. He stopped breathing completely, listening to the rustling coming closer… and closer. He grit his teeth, the hot wires in his body growing tighter and tighter as he clenched his fists. Oh, no, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

          He listened to the rustling for a few more seconds before launching himself to his feet and jumping onto whoever the hell dared to try to sneak up on him. They wrestled for a few minutes, Carlton trying to beat up the other man, the other man trying to escape. “Oh, no you don’t!” He growled. Finally, he straddled the other man and raised his fist, about to beat this man and get the hell-

          “Lassie, wait!”

          “Shawn?”

          Carlton lowered his fist, sighing with relief. “Damn it. I thought you were one of them.” He got off Shawn, rubbing the back of his neck. How the hell was he supposed to know it was Shawn? “How did you find me?”

          Shawn panted, sitting up. “You made a giant trail in the underbrush.”

          He pinked, thankful that the darkness covered his embarrassment. “Oh.”

          There was faint rustling as Shawn reached over, searching for Carlton’s hand. Still sheepish, Carlton grabbed it. “Anyways Lassie, I found a broken part in the wall. We should probably go check it out.”

          Carlton paused, thinking. It most likely led to the forest, and Los Padres was 2 million acres big. “I don’t-”

          “I already told the other guy about it. You love camping, hunting, and fishing, and you know a bunch of survival shit, and it’s better than being here. And- I, I trust you.”

          For a moment his chest swelled with warmth and love, knowing Shawn trusted him. Sure, they loved each other, but they trusted each other, and that was beautiful. Slowly, he nodded. “Okay… okay. Let’s go then.”

          Shawn grabbed him by the wrist. “I remember the way back. Follow me.” Carlton nodded, biting his lip. Shawn trusted him, and now he had to trust Shawn.

          Carlton allowed himself to be led by the wrist through the forest, only occasionally bumping into things even though the forest obscured the stars. Ten minutes passed until he was finally able to see a clearing where the moon shone on the grass and part of the nine-foot brick wall that ran around the property. When he looked closer, he saw a hole in the middle that was crumbling, a hole he could fit into if he tried hard enough.

          Suddenly, Shawn yelped. Instinctively, Carlton let go, and the sound of ropes tightening and bells jingling echoed through his mind. “Shawn!”

          Shawn panted, wriggling desperately in whatever he was trapped in. “Lassie- Lassie, I’m okay. Just stuck in this- in this net thingy.”

          Instantly, Carlton dropped to his knees, rummaging through the trampled undergrowth for something, anything that could be used to cut Shawn down.

          “Lassie-”

          His hands, already muddy, slipped on a rock. A rock. He picked it up and brandished it, beginning to saw at one of the ropes.

          “Lassie.”

          Carlton got one, gritting his teeth as he heard it snap. He moved onto the next one-

          “Carlton!”

          He froze. Shawn’s hand was outstretched. He held it, dropping the rock.

          “It’s a trap, they’re probably on their way here already. They’re silent as hell too, so-”

          “I know.” He said, his voice quavering.

          A small sob escaped him, and, ever so carefully, he lifted Shawn’s hand to his mouth and kissed it.

          “Go without me.”

          “I can’t,” Carlton whispered, leaning his forehead against Shawn’s.

          Shawn, with his last burst of strength, awkwardly wriggled around until he could grab Carlton by the collar and pull him closer. They kissed, tasting the fear on each other’s lips for what felt like hours until Shawn pulled away, panting. “If you don’t leave right now, I’ll never forgive you.”

          “But-”

          “Go!” Shawn hissed.

          Disturbed, Carlton began to back away. Internally he was screaming at himself, telling himself to run back, or- or hide, or do something that wasn’t running away.

          “I love you,” He felt himself whisper, as his legs betrayed him.

          Five minutes later, as he was already in the forest, he heard six gunshots.

Chapter Text

          The slap was completely unexpected. Carlton thought he’d been doing so well.

          “You son of a bitch! You were cheating on me!”

          Carlton stretched his jaw and rubbed his cheek where Caroline slapped him, and slowly turned to her. Not this again. He told her about tonight, and she’d even approved it! It’s just that… well, Shawn randomly showed up, and she must have heard. “I wasn’t. I thought Shawn wouldn’t be there, and he just showed up.”

          “I don’t believe you.” She hissed, her green eyes burning with rage. She never believed him.

          “Carrie, please-”

          “Don’t fucking lie to me!” She shrieked, pushing him. And, Carlton, in all his lanky glory, fell onto the couch.

          She fell upon him like a hawk, her long fingernails stabbing into him as she wrapped her small, surprisingly strong hands around his throat. He sobbed, his hands flying to her wrists as he felt his bladder let itself go. Carrie, you’re hurting me. He tried to say something, anything, but when Caroline Hooper wanted something, she got it.

          He gasped, desperately trying to take in even one breath as his face went numb and his lungs began to ache. Caroline was still straddling him, still choking him, still hurt and angry and insecure with her blonde hair raggedly wreathing her face and her face turning pink.

          He started to weakly punch at her ribs. He didn’t want to hurt her, not her, never her, because she loved him truly when no one else could. And as his vision blinked in and out for the last time and his throat swelled up, he thought he could eventually forgive her.

          He gasped awake to the sound of sobbing and someone’s latex hand gently slapping his cheek. He could breathe.

          Sobbing. It was Caroline’s sobbing. He reached out his hand as he was lifted onto a stretcher and she reached out with her own, her hands gentle and loving once more.

          She went in the ambulance with them, holding his hand almost the entire time. There was something in his throat and sticking out of his mouth, long, plastic, and uncomfortable. He kept coughing around it and spit bubbled up around the edges of his mouth, but Caroline shushed him, telling him it would help. The home invader choked him, she said. They were the one to make his throat swell up so much that he couldn’t breathe on his own, she said.

          He was so, so tired. He could sleep, she said.

          When Carlton woke up, it was sunny. There wasn’t a tube in his throat anymore, thank god; but Caroline was gone.

           He could breathe well out of his mouth now, even though it felt like it was on fire and it whistled whenever he breathed too hard.

          The haze of the past week was completely gone, like cobwebs cleared from an attic. All he remembered were doctors in white cloaks surrounding him, their glasses glaring down at him like beetles. It was a blur of sour medication and sweet, sweet water.

          He never wanted to go back to it again.

          For a long time he stared out the window watching the palm trees sway in the breeze, tantalizing him. He should be out there, catching criminals and doing justice. But instead, some bitch broke into his home and strangled him.

          Carlton grumbled and shut his eyes, determined to take a small nap, before the door burst open.

          “Lassie!”

          He grumbled again and forced his crusty eyes to open, revealing Shawn, then Juliet, then Gus, and then Caroline shoving their way into the room. He glared at them all warily before all of them, except for Caroline, hugged him. “Careful.” He said, weakly patting Juliet on the shoulder.

          “Sorry. We just haven’t seen you in a few days.” She smiled softly, and all of them pulled away.

          Caroline smiled and sat on the bed, cupping his ankle. “I was so worried! Thank god you’re okay now.”

          He smiled back weakly, glancing at Shawn; but, for once, he didn’t seem so happy. He was glancing back and forth between him and Caroline, him and Caroline, him and…

          Oh, shit.

          It all came rushing back. Caroline pushing him onto the floor and strangling him until he blacked out, the tips of her blonde hair brushing against his face and her nails pure, fiery pain as they stabbed into his neck.

          What little smile he had fell.

          They were all talking, but it blended into the background. Shawn was staring at him, and his eyes were wet.

          He opened his mouth to speak, and Carlton tried to interject, but it wasn’t enough.

         “Guys- Lassie, I know you hate me, but seriously, I’m worried about you! Okay, now guys, me and Lassie need to talk alone. Shoo.”

          “Shawn! We just got here!” Gus sputtered.

          Shawn was already pushing him out the door. Reluctantly, the others followed. “Gotta catch him up on some work stuff. You know how he is.” However, before he fully closed the door, Carlton saw Caroline’s narrowed eyes and scrunched eyebrows, and knew he wouldn’t truly be saved. Not for a long time.

          Shawn brushed off his hands, walking back to the bed and plopping down onto it. “Okay, we need to talk. What the hell was that?”

          “...I don’t know what you mean.” Carlton mumbled, glancing down at the floor.

          Shawn sighed, biting his lip. “You know what I mean, man. Her fingernails—they match the marks on your neck. Is she-?”

          “No.” He replied instantly, scoffing and crossing his arms. “What, do you really think I’d let my own wife hit me? That’s bullshit, Spencer, and you know that.”

          Shawn blew out a breath, switching one bouncing leg to another. “I didn’t say anything about hitting.”

          Carlton froze, his hands clenching on his arms. Son of a bitch, I’m just digging myself deeper.

          “I mean… it’s- it’s okay. Not- not her hitting or- or strangling you or anything, but I mean- Imeanyoucantellmeifsheis.” He said the last part quickly, turning slightly pink. “And I mean, you definitely aren’t the kind of guy to dump pig blood on her, so you sure as hell don’t deserve it. And-”

          Carlton put a hand up, still staring at the floor. “Save it. I understand what you mean,” He growled.

          “...and I can’t just let this slide.” Carlton turned, and Shawn’s face was strangely determined. 

          “...I know.” He murmured, clenching his hands at his sides, the fire inside him burning out. Shawn was right. He was being… abused.

          “Okay,” Shawn said after a while, his entire body relaxing. “Well, uh… see you later, I guess.” He said weakly, standing up. 

          Carlton let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding after Shawn left, leaning back against the pillow.

          He was so goddamn tired.

Chapter Text

          Shawn whistled tunelessly as he walked along in the darkness, listening to the whimpering and thrashing up ahead. He wasn’t sure how Carlton ever hunted, since his thrashing probably sent the animals 100 feet in every direction.

          He hopped from rock ledge to rock ledge, lower and lower until there was only the last one. He walked towards the middle, where there was a den that went up to his shoulders. Sighing, he knelt down, hoping to god that Carlton would recognize him. After all, Carlton never exactly told any of them he was a werewolf. “Hey, buddy.”

          Shawn paused, hearing snuffling from inside the den. Then, Carlton began to growl.

          “It’s me. Shawn? Shawn Spencer?”

          Nothing happened for a few minutes as it shuffled around inside its den. He thought Carlton was ignoring him, until a large, dark shape suddenly ripped out of the den, pouncing on him. He yelped, his head dangling off the ledge as its wet nose snuffled at his neck.

          Then, as quickly as it happened, it was done. Carlton stood on his hind legs, softly growling. But Shawn knew Carlton wasn’t angry; he was just scared. Scared of being found out, and, and called a freak.

          Shawn smiled at him and brought out a pack of ham he bought that morning, ripping it open. “I know you’re scared. And I know I followed you when I wasn’t supposed to. But I want to help you.” He took out two pieces of ham and held it on, staring at Carlton as sincerely as he could.

          Carlton narrowed its eyes and got back down on all fours, eyes bright and curious. It whimpered.

          “I know,” He said softly, cooing to the werewolf. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be tough all the time. I won’t tell anyone if you really don’t want me to.”

          Slowly, it padded forward, licking the ham out of Shawn’s hand, seemingly accepting the apology. Shawn sighed with relief and ripped open the ham package completely, holding it out so Carlton could eat out of it. “Good boy,” he cooed, scratching behind Carlton’s ear. Human or not, sometimes Carlton was too damn easy.

          Once all the ham was gone, Carlton padded back into the den, its tail swinging slightly.

          “You’re such a tired old man.” Shawn teased, bending down to look inside. It wasn’t really decorated, except for a few particularly jagged-looking bones. Carlton huffed in response. Exasperated, it trotted over and bit Shawn’s pant leg, yanking on it. Shawn grinned, getting onto his hands and knees as he began to crawl into the cave. As he settled into a particularly uncluttered corner of the cave, Carlton settled its head on his lap, quietly whining.

          A pure smile melted its way onto Shawn’s face as he began to scratch Carlton’s ears. Carlton’s tail was wagging slowly, as if his mate were nearby.

          Warmth spread throughout his chest, but it was instantly squashed by another soft whine coming from Carlton’s mouth. “What’s wrong? Does your body still hurt from the transformation?” He whispered softly, rubbing his thumb against the werewolf’s forehead.

          It simply whimpered, burrowing deeper into Shawn’s lap.

          “They’re not supposed to hurt this bad… know what’s wrong?”

          Slowly, it shook its head.

          “Here, lemme…” He wriggled downward so that he was laying down, and Carlton responded in kind, nearly laying on top of him. If he ignored the fact that he couldn’t sit up, the furry, warm pressure felt wonderful. “...is this better?”

          It huffed loudly in its ear, and Shawn frowned. No matter how much Carlton tried to pretend the transformation wasn’t still affecting it, its body was shaking. “Hey, I got you. We can get breakfast in the morning, alright? I mean, you’ll probably pay, but you know…” Carlton gave him whale eyes, and he cringed. “...sorry. Not helpful, I know. Just go to sleep, okay?” He gave the werewolf an apologetic kiss on the snout and it shut its eyes, huffing.

          Suddenly, it began to lick at the side of his head, pasting half his hair to his head. He spluttered out of half-consciousness, gently batting away at Carlton’s furry head that insisted on slobbering on him. Eventually, however, he gave up, allowing it to lap at the side of his head with its smooth tongue. Eventually (luckily for him), it fell asleep, its snout buried into the crook of his neck.

          Shawn sighed, absentmindedly ruffling Carlton’s fur. Then, his eyes widened, realization filling them. Carlton considered him his mate. The grooming, the affection, the trust-

          …didn’t seem so bad.

          He closed his eyes, snuggling closer to Carlton, glad that he’d followed the older man to his den.