A New Perspective on an Old Theme
folder
M through R › Psych
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
27
Views:
4,902
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Psych
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
27
Views:
4,902
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Psych, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 11 -- D&D II: Drugs and Delusions?
“What . . . do now . . . they know . . .”
“What are you talking about?” Henry frowned, And Shawn blinked.
“You and . . . Gus . . . told,“ he said, his words slightly garbled, and he closed his eyes as he yawned, and despite the pain he was in, or maybe because of it, as well as the residual effects of being so heavily medicated for so long, he was once more incredibly sleepy, and no matter how hard he fought to do so, he couldn’t keep his eyes open for much longer.
“Dad,” he whispered. “What . . .do . . . now?”
“Just . . . just heal, son,” Henry said and wondered how the hell Shawn had known he and Gus had let his secret out, and just as promptly remembered that the last thing to go on a coma patient was their hearing. That meant that Shawn had probably overheard them talking about it in his room. “That’s the most important thing you can do right now. We’ll take care of the rest later.”
“Okay. No prob,” Shawn’s head sagged to the side, and a long sigh left him as after what seemed an eternity, his entire body was wonderfully pain free. However, he squeezed his eyes closed, and then reopened them. Through sheer force of willpower alone, he dazedly gazed at the woman who stood in the middle of his room, a couple of feet to the left of his father.
Her long hair was caked with both fresh and dried mud, her face filthy with the same, though two distinct paths were clean and obviously streaked with tears from dark chocolate brown eyes. Her long, spaghetti-strapped dress was torn at one strap, and all but sliced in two from her diaphragm to just above her hip at the left side, and muddy water pooled around her bare feet.
Slowly, lethargically, Shawn pointed to the woman, and his voice dropped almost to an inaudible whisper. “Dad, I . . . think . . . you need . . . help . . . her,“ he was finally forced to give in to the demand the drug made on him, and his head dropped off the pillow to the mattress and his arm thumped to his side on the bed as he went fully unconscious.
Henry looked to where his son had pointed, and his face creased with worry when he saw nothing there.
“Oh damn, Shawn,” he whispered hoarsely as he dropped his head into his hands. “Please don’t do this to me. I‘m too damned old to go down this kind of road with you.”
And yet, at the same time, even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. Shawn was his son, and no matter what happened, he knew that he was going to be there for him.
He clenched his teeth and his chin jutted forth stubbornly, and yet, despite the hard set of his face, his hands were steady and gentle as he placed his son’s head back on the pillow and covered him up until the blanket was tucked up around his chin.
Tomorrow he would deal with whatever came along in the form of the others. Tomorrow, he would call all Shawn’s associates and let them know that Shawn was awake, and let them know what the doctor had said.
Tomorrow.
He needed one more quiet night.
In the harsh, stark light of day, he‘d deal with the possibility that his one and only son may be brain damaged to the point of insanity by his heroism, but for this last night, he would just sit quietly with his son while he slept, and pretend that everything was going to be normal . . . Or as normal as it got when Shawn Spencer was in one‘s life.
“What are you talking about?” Henry frowned, And Shawn blinked.
“You and . . . Gus . . . told,“ he said, his words slightly garbled, and he closed his eyes as he yawned, and despite the pain he was in, or maybe because of it, as well as the residual effects of being so heavily medicated for so long, he was once more incredibly sleepy, and no matter how hard he fought to do so, he couldn’t keep his eyes open for much longer.
“Dad,” he whispered. “What . . .do . . . now?”
“Just . . . just heal, son,” Henry said and wondered how the hell Shawn had known he and Gus had let his secret out, and just as promptly remembered that the last thing to go on a coma patient was their hearing. That meant that Shawn had probably overheard them talking about it in his room. “That’s the most important thing you can do right now. We’ll take care of the rest later.”
“Okay. No prob,” Shawn’s head sagged to the side, and a long sigh left him as after what seemed an eternity, his entire body was wonderfully pain free. However, he squeezed his eyes closed, and then reopened them. Through sheer force of willpower alone, he dazedly gazed at the woman who stood in the middle of his room, a couple of feet to the left of his father.
Her long hair was caked with both fresh and dried mud, her face filthy with the same, though two distinct paths were clean and obviously streaked with tears from dark chocolate brown eyes. Her long, spaghetti-strapped dress was torn at one strap, and all but sliced in two from her diaphragm to just above her hip at the left side, and muddy water pooled around her bare feet.
Slowly, lethargically, Shawn pointed to the woman, and his voice dropped almost to an inaudible whisper. “Dad, I . . . think . . . you need . . . help . . . her,“ he was finally forced to give in to the demand the drug made on him, and his head dropped off the pillow to the mattress and his arm thumped to his side on the bed as he went fully unconscious.
Henry looked to where his son had pointed, and his face creased with worry when he saw nothing there.
“Oh damn, Shawn,” he whispered hoarsely as he dropped his head into his hands. “Please don’t do this to me. I‘m too damned old to go down this kind of road with you.”
And yet, at the same time, even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. Shawn was his son, and no matter what happened, he knew that he was going to be there for him.
He clenched his teeth and his chin jutted forth stubbornly, and yet, despite the hard set of his face, his hands were steady and gentle as he placed his son’s head back on the pillow and covered him up until the blanket was tucked up around his chin.
Tomorrow he would deal with whatever came along in the form of the others. Tomorrow, he would call all Shawn’s associates and let them know that Shawn was awake, and let them know what the doctor had said.
Tomorrow.
He needed one more quiet night.
In the harsh, stark light of day, he‘d deal with the possibility that his one and only son may be brain damaged to the point of insanity by his heroism, but for this last night, he would just sit quietly with his son while he slept, and pretend that everything was going to be normal . . . Or as normal as it got when Shawn Spencer was in one‘s life.