Don't Let Go
Psych
PG
Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
~1100 words
Shawn needs Carlton to wake up.
He's sitting just next to him, holding a cold hand between his warming it as best he can. The bed is white and crisp, sterile like the rest of the room which means Shawn doesn't have a lot to distract him from the pale, relaxed expression or the bandages wrapped around his head (and his stomach and his leg - Shawn hasn't seen them, but he knows they're there just like he knows exactly where the bullets went [through his left leg and below his chest somehow missing the lungs which Shawn knows is the most important thing which is why he doesn't know what they actually hit because he'd been so relieved]).
There are tubes and machines and Shawn could probably remember what all of them are doing to keep Carlton alive, but he's locked those memories away for now. The details would be too overwhelming, and even if he knew, it's not like he'd be able to do anything about it. It's better not to know and have hope than to know and be helpless against facts and reality.
His dad would normally disapprove of that, but Henry's being relatively docile, sitting nearby with his reading glasses on while he reads some magazine he brought with him. It's too tame, but Shawn knows his real reason for being here, and they're currently sitting on the other side of the room.
Lauren Lassiter isn't the one he has to look out for. She'd walked into the hospital room, distressed, in tears, and her eyes had slid from her older brother's face to the hand Shawn was holding between his. It seemed to make her feel more peaceful - Shawn doesn't know if it's out of happiness for Carlton or if she thinks he's like one of those cats that lives in nursing homes that can correctly predict when someone is going to die (and right now Shawn would give anything to have that superpower, but he'd give everything to never have to know that Carlton isn't waking up).
Mother Lassiter, though, had followed in her daughter's footsteps, not too far behind but enough to make Shawn want to keep Carlton close. He had honestly expected the devoutly Catholic woman to have her misgivings about Carlton's relationship with another man, but instead she had zeroed in on him, sneering in disapproval as she reached up to touch the cross at her neck.
Henry had read that as easily as Shawn did - psychic powers meant devilry or witchcraft and it didn't take long for her to demand that Shawn leave for corrupting her boy. Probably trying to send him to hell. Shawn isn't sure that he believes in a heaven or a hell (or if he does, he's convinced that hell is sitting by the bedside of someone you love and waiting for their eyes to open or their heart monitor to stop and never knowing which one's going to come), but the idea she put in his head was almost enough to make him give up.
That's where Henry had stepped in, protective with barely concealed rage as he explained to the nurses that Shawn needed to be there for Carlton.
By the time the dust settled, their truce was a tentative one. Carlton's family would still have dibs. Shawn was barely a boyfriend so far as most people knew, so if they caused trouble, Shawn and Henry would have to be the ones to leave. But every time Mother Lassiter begins to say something scathing, Lauren puts a hand on her arm and Henry glares daggers.
The silence in the room is oppressive, broken up by Carlton's steady heartbeat, and every now and then Lauren speaks quietly to her mother. Shawn doesn't listen to them, doesn't care what they're saying. Everything except Carlton feels so far away, and even though Carlton is close, there's no telling when he'll wake up.
Reality is a distant memory with cases and psychic visions and guns and heads cracking hard against concrete and him holding Carlton while Juliet and their backup save all of their asses. He isn't sure he can go back to it, and so he's locked those away as best he can, too. He thinks he can, but only if Carlton wakes up.
Shawn can't help but wonder what happens if he doesn't. If he's gone forever. He wonders if he's able to lock away their first date, the feeling of Carlton's hand holding his, their tender and angry kisses, if he can make himself forget all of the little things like Carlton chewing gum during that first interrogation or humming danger music or smiling so serenely when he tends to his guns before he hides them all over the house again.
Shawn wants to. He needs to, because if he can't and all of that is gone, then he doesn't know what he's going to do with himself. But if he can, it'll be like killing part of himself, and he sees that trajectory clearly even though he doesn't want to - he'll lock himself away, put everything that makes him Shawn Spencer behind the best door he can make and let himself self-destruct knowing that he's completely hollow and empty and that nothing else matters.
He blinks and realizes that hours have somehow passed and that his eyes hurt and there are tears still wet on his cheeks. The sun is slanting bright orange and yellow through the blinds. Lauren and her mom are gone, and Henry's hand touches Shawn's shoulder. "Get some sleep tonight, kid."
"Will do," he promises emptily, and for once, Henry lets him get away with lying.
Carlton's expression hasn't changed much in the time Shawn's been zoned out, and so far as he can tell, there isn't anything different about the meds or the machine setup either. He settles in for the night, lacing his fingers with Carlton's as he leans back in the uncomfortable recliner that he scooted up next to the bed. "It's just me and you, Lassie."
After a few minutes, he has to ask. "Carlton?" No answer. He's right there, but he's not, so close and so far and every other stupid cliché that Shawn suddenly hates so violently because they were never supposed to be true. "You promise you won't leave?"
Carlton's heartbeat holds steady. There's no other answer.