Watching You [1/2]

[windscryer]

Title: Watching You
Rating: eT
Characters: Shawn, Henry, Gus, Lassiter, Juliet
Warnings: violence, gore, abuse of sound effects in a written story, almost a song!fic, misuse of artistic license in formatting
Genres: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family, Drama
Chapters: 2
Completed: Yes
Word count: 9817
Disclaimer: *sings*

I've been watching you, Steve, ain't that cool?
I'm your fangirl too! I wanna be like you
And write all my words and grow as tall as you are!
By then I'll be as super as Psychman!
We'll be just alike, hey won't we, Steve?
When I can do everything you do...
'Cause I've been watching you!

*is thoughtful*

And you know, since I've been watching you, obviously I'm not you. Unless we're both crazy . . . Totally possible. :D

(He rly is super tall, btw. Like twice my friggin' shortness. It's pwnsome.)
Notes: This story was inspired by the song that is quoted at the beginning of the story. That's all I know. You'll have to ask my Muse about the rest of it. :D

Also, it was originally posted in seven parts. I've opted-for my sanity and yours-to condense it into one two posts here.

Apparently one post is too much for LJ.

Summary: Once upon a time Shawn Spencer wanted to be just like his father. Sometimes Henry wishes he hadn't.

I've been watching you, Dad, ain't that cool?
I'm your buckaroo. I wanna be like you
And eat all my food and grow as tall as you are.
By then I'll be as strong as superman.
We'll be just alike, hey won't we, Dad?
When I can do everything you do...
'Cause I've been watching you.

Rodney Atkins, Watching You

“Dad, why is the sky blue?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Well what color should it be, Shawn?”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“I don't know. Maybe green. That might be kind of cool.”

“Paging Doctor Williams. Doctor Williams, call Radiology.”

“Green, huh? What is this obsession you have with green?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“What's an obsession?”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“An obsession is something that you focus on to the exclusion of all else. Okay, take the color green for instance. You like green so much that you never want any other colors. If you could, I bet you would wear green clothes and eat green food and ride a green bike and play with green toys and even paint your room green. Right?”

click. Click. Click. CLICK. “Sorry, sir. I just need to take his vitals again.”

“Can I paint my room green?”

CLICK. Click. Click. click.

“Ask your mother. She's in charge of all interior decorating decisions.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOOM. CAN I PAINT MY ROOM GREEN?”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“All I'm saying, Gus, is that Daniel Craig versus Sean Connery will always end with Sean Connery as the winner.”

“And all I'm saying is you're crazy.”

“Dude, he was Indy's dad,” Shawn said as he entered the kitchen through the back door. “What more needs to be said?”

Gus frowned and set the bag of groceries down on the table. “What does that have to do with him being a better James Bond?”

Shawn just stared at Gus like he'd asked what rain falling on it had to do with the ocean being wet.

Henry decided it was time to intervene before he lost any more brain cells. Or before he had to agree with his son.

Not about Indiana Jones having anything to do with James Bond, of course, just the fact that Sean Connery was the better Bond.

“Here, take this outside,” he said handing a plate of meat to his son. “Gus, can you hand me the coleslaw dressing?”

Shawn gave Gus a look that clearly said the discussion was far from over, but accepted the plate and headed out. Gus dug into the bag before him and located the requested bottle.

“So I hear that you're getting a raise at work?”

Gus frowned. “I am?” he asked, then realized that Henry meant Central Coast, not Psych. “Oh, right. Yeah,” he confirmed. “Though I have no idea why.”

“Well don't you deserve it?”

Gus snorted. “Frankly? No. I've been spending so much time working with Shawn on cases that I actually thought I was going to be fired when I went into that meeting with Tom.”

Henry lips turned down briefly in consideration. “Well maybe they're afraid you're thinking of leaving them and they're trying to preempt it,” he said as he popped the cap on the dressing and began drizzling it over the shredded cabbage in the bowl.

Gus pondered that. “Maybe.” Then he shook his head. “But if that's the case, I don't know if it's going to work.”

Now it was Henry's turn to frown. “What do you mean? Have you been thinking about leaving?”

“Well,” Gus said, then hesitated.

Henry looked up from his mixing. “Well what? Are you or aren't you?”

“Are you or aren't you what?” Shawn asked as he came back in.

Henry watched the shutters slam back down as Gus's lips turned up in a smile.

“Going to start the corn. I think I am,” he said and grabbed the bag of fresh ear corn from the table, heading to the sink.

Shawn stared at his friend's back for a second, then shook it off and looked around.

“Set the table, would you, Shawn?” Henry asked.

He got an eye roll, but no further complaints than that as Shawn moved to collect the plates, cups, and utensils he'd need.

“Don't forget napkins,” Henry reminded him when Shawn was almost out the door.

“Of course,” Shawn said as he spun on his heel and came just far enough to grab the napkin holder off the table. “Should I fold them into little swans while I'm at it?”

Henry shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

Once the screen door had shut with a bang, Henry glanced at Gus who was busily shucking corn and then putting the ears in the large stew pot of water.

“So what's had you thinking about-”

A squeal of tires outside distracted Henry. It had to be that Simmons boy again. No male at the age of sixteen needed a car with that much horsepower. Especially not three days after barely passing the licensing exam.

Henry wasn't surprised by the revving engine that followed. Sadly it had become common place in just a week.

There was a crash that sounded almost like the table being overturned. What was Shawn doing out there?

The spray of gunshots that followed that had Henry's scooping motion with the spoon flinging coleslaw onto the ceiling even as he dropped to the floor in instinctive defense.

There was another squeal of tires and roar of an engine that began to fade almost immediately.

Henry glanced at Gus to make sure he was okay. He was drenched with the water from the corn and all of his hard work lay on the floor with the pot on its side, but there was no obvious blood and he was breathing-if a bit erratically.

Then Henry remembered Shawn had been outside.

And his brain finally finished mentally tracing the trajectory of the bullets. None had come through the house, but not for lack of being aimed this way.

With the comprehension of the suddenly overwhelming silence crashing through the screen door Henry was up and racing out, hoping desperately that Shawn was as shell-shocked as Gus and that was why he was quiet. He had very little stock in that hope, but his brain refused to let it go.

Shawn's breathing was erratic like his friend's and he was hunched down behind the table that had indeed been overturned. Shawn must have recognized what was happening and tried to take cover.

Between the trees and bushes and the railing and the table there had been plenty of layers between Shawn and the mobile gunman.

But not enough.

One very lucky shot had managed to get past all the other barriers so it had plenty of momentum left to carry it through the old wooden table.

The good news was that the bullet was buried in the side of the house, not Shawn.

The bad news was that it had tried to take a chunk of Shawn's skull with it.

“Mr. Spencer?” Gus voice was a little shaky and came from approximately the place where Henry had last seen him.

Henry dusted off the calm steady voice he'd used at countless crime scenes over the years and said, “Gus, call an ambulance.”

There was a squeak of distress and then the thump of a body hitting the floor as Gus passed out.

Despite the situation Henry rolled his eyes.

Some things never changed.

“Shawn, what are you and Gus doing up there?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Nothing!”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Nothing sounds an awful lot like something that will get you in trouble.”

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. “What I want is to be able to walk out of here on my own two feet, not being pushed out in this stupid wheelchair!”

“Really, Dad! Gus and I are fine! We're just playing.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Playing what?”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Uhhhhhh . . . hide and seek?”

“Mr. Spencer, I'm Doctor Rawlins, your son's physician.”

“Shawn.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“We are! We're playing hide and seek!”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Shawn! Is that my gun?!”

“The good news is that Shawn has been holding steady. All of his scans have come back clean and there's no swelling or fluid build up in his skull. There have been no complications with the blood we gave him and he's back up to an acceptable volume again. I feel confident enough about his recovery that I'm having the drugs keeping him under sedation stopped. We'll be starting him on painkillers in anticipation of his waking up.”

“Ummmm . . .”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“You lied to me! You said you were playing hide and seek!”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“We are!”

“It will take a day or so for the sedatives to completely clear his system. Once that happens and he's in a more natural sleep, I'll have the ventilator removed. Also the surgery to remove the bullet from his leg went well. He's young and healthy and with therapy he should physically recover with nothing more to remember this than a few small scars.”

“Then why do you have my gun? What have I told you about this? This is not a toy!”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Speak up, Shawn, I can't understand when you mumble like that.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“What were you playing, Shawn?”

“If he continues to remain complication free we'll be upgrading him from critical to serious, and when he wakes up we'll upgrade him again to fair condition.”

“Gus was the drug dealer holed up in his meth lab and I was the cop busting him.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“You . . . You were . . . You are grounded, Shawn.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“But, Daaaaad!”

“What's the bad news?”

“No buts, Shawn.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“You're grounded for the rest of the summer.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“But-”

“I'm sorry?”

“And maybe next school year.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“But!”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Possibly until you're thirty.”

“You said that was the good news. What's the bad news?

“That's not fair!”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Life isn't fair Shawn. Get over it.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“BUT-”

“Just tell me.”

“Gus, I'll take you home.”

“Well . . . Until he wakes up and can can answer some questions, perform a few basic tasks related to mobility and motor skills . . . we won't know if there's any brain damage.”

“Yes, Mr. Spencer.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Daaaad!”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“You'd better be in this room when I return, Shawn. We are going to have a serious talk. Do you understand me?”

“But as I said, his scans look good so far. I'm very optimistic, Mr. Spencer.”

“I said do you understand me?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Shawn!”

“ . . . I'll . . . just send a nurse in with something for you to eat.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

Henry checked briefly on Gus to make sure he hadn't injured himself too, but he seemed okay, just unconscious.

He returned to Shawn's side with a cloth and the phone, turning Shawn's head to the side slightly so he could put pressure on the wound without pushing him over, the other hand dialing the phone.

“911 Emergency, what is your situation?”

“I've got a 505/245. Request 10-45 for 10-17, victim has a head wound.”

There was a pause, probably the dispatcher mentally adjusting to the fact that she was talking to a cop.

“Please identify yourself.”

“Officer Henry Spencer.”

“Are you 10-70D?”

That one took Henry a second to recall. “Ah, no. I'm . . . retired,” he said. He'd gotten so caught up in the moment he'd been acting on autopilot.

“Understood, sir. What is your location?”

Henry rattled off his address, then sat as patiently as he could manage through the rest of the questions. He seemed to sound calm enough because never once did she offer any consoling words of comfort or reassurance, just asked in a very business-like manner what she needed to know to make sure the officers and EMTs were prepared upon arrival.

Of course, he hadn't mentioned it was his son who needed an ambulance because he'd been shot in a drive-by.

The piercing wail of sirens was almost a relief after the bubble of silence that had enclosed the neighborhood when the gunshots had ceased and the car was gone.

The ambulance screeched to a stop in front of the gate, stilling for a single heartbeat of time before it exploded in activity, one paramedic jumping from rear of the vehicle and heading straight for them, a second following but staying there to wrestle the gurney out, the driver rounding the back to grab a kit before joining the first on the porch with Henry.

He stayed right where he was until a gloved hand covered his and maintained the pressure while easing him free.

“I've got this, Henry. I've got him.”

It wasn't until he heard his name that Henry realized that he knew the man currently trying to save his son's life.

“Is anyone else hurt?” the second EMT asked.

“Uh,” Henry said, some part of his brain realizing he was losing coherency the longer he stared at Shawn's still form.

Actually, that wasn't the problem. Shawn fell asleep on his couch all the time and that was only since leaving home. Henry had spent a good many hours of Shawn's childhood watching him sleep, worrying about him, wondering if he was any good at this fatherhood thing, if he was pushing too hard . . .

The problem now, though, was that Shawn didn't usually sleep covered in his own blood.

Except that one year he worked the ax murderer's victim in a haunted house the whole month of October and was too tired to clean up before going to bed. Scared the crap out of Henry when he walked in after shift to find his fifteen-year-old son laying in bed looking very convincingly dead.

Henry could almost convince himself that this was another of Shawn's pranks, that he was trying to prove a point or just mess with Henry's head, but he'd touched the blood and knew it was blood and not food coloring and Karo syrup. He'd gently pulled apart the slice in Shawn's scalp and caught a glimpse of stark white skull, trying to make sure that it had just been a graze and hadn't actually broken anything.

He knew it was real and he couldn't convince himself otherwise now. He was watching his son die right before his eyes.

There was a curse and then, “Grab him!”

And suddenly someone was gripping his arms, guiding him back a step then urging him to sit down.

“Easy, Henry, breathe. Come on. You're not helping Shawn. Breathe.”

“Is he hurt? What happened here?”

It vaguely registered that Henry recognized both those voices. One was . . . the name was a blank, but he knew the face, could picture it grinning behind a hand of poker cards.

The other he associated with fish for some reason.

“Oh my-” There was a feminine gasp he didn't recognize, though he thought that maybe he should. “Carlton- He- Shawn- He-”

Yes! Carlton. That was fish guy's name.

“O'Hara!” Carlton snapped.

“Sorry,” came the quiet response. “I- Sorry.”

And then suddenly Carlton's face was in front of his and he blinked. “What . . .”

“Henry. Look at me.”

He blinked again and focused on the face in front of him. Or tried anyway. It was harder than it sounded.

“O'Hara, go inside and see if anyone else is here and if they're okay.”

Heels clicked on the wood as they headed inside and then Carlton was focused on him again.

“Henry, listen to me. I need to know what happened. Are you hurt?” he asked, lifting Henry's hands at the wrists and looking at them, then scanning, looking for more blood.

“It's Sh- It's Shawn's,” Henry stammered. Why did he sound weird? Like he was out of breath or something. His eyes skipped around looking for a reason for his respiratory distress. He spotted Shawn's leg, stretched out on the deck, followed it to where three EMTs were crowded around him, and suddenly Henry's lungs worked again, inhaling like he'd just come up from under water.

“Shawn. He's-”

“We know, Henry. They're taking care of him. Look at me.”

He followed the voice and saw Lassiter crouched there.

“Carlton?”

“Yes,” Lassiter said, his eyes tightening at the corners when he answered that question. Like something about it was wrong. “Henry, do you know what's going on? What happened here?”

“Shawn was shot,” Henry said, shooting to his feet. “It was a drive-by. I didn't see the car, I just heard it. Shawn was . . .”

“Henry, easy. Take it easy. One step at a time. Shawn was out here? By himself?”

“Gus is inside,” a young woman reported as she came outside again. “It looks like he passed out. He's coming around again and he seems to be okay.”

“Go check it out,” Lassiter ordered one of the EMTs, the young one Henry didn't know. O'Hara followed him back inside.

And then there was room to see Shawn again and Henry wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“We need some room here,” Robert said. That was his name. Robert. He was a card sharp, but only when they were teaching a new rookie the finer points of locker room poker or when he was in Vegas. He'd been a cop for ten years before he finished his degree in emergency medicine and swapped his squad car for an ambulance and his .38 special for a stethoscope.

Henry allowed himself to be herded back by Lassiter so the gurney could be brought up onto the porch and Shawn could be loaded up.

His head had been gauzed and taped into submission, though the mound of white was starting to turn the faintest pink in the middle. An IV had been started and was being held in place by the other EMT Henry didn't recognize as the mobile bed was raised. An officer standing nearby helped get it back down the stairs and then they were running for the ambulance.

“Fletcher!” Robert called.

The young one, Fletcher it seemed, came back out of the kitchen headed for the ambulance at a run, Gus not too far behind him, though he was moving more slowly and leaning on O'Hara.

Who was she again? Why did Henry know that name?

“Shawn is okay, Gus,” she was saying. “They're taking him to the hospital, but he's still alive.”

“He was . . . he was shot? How bad is it?”

“We'll have to wait for the doctor's assessment,” she said gently. “But it just grazed him. Didn't even go in.”

“You're sure he's-”

“Uh huh,” she said as they came to a stop at the doorway.

“Guster,” Lassiter said. “You gonna be okay?” The tone was cool, but there was something in his face that softened that and gave it a genuine note of concern.

Gus nodded. And though he still looked terrible, he was mobile and he wasn't bleeding so it was probably true.

“Okay then. I need to know what happened here.”

“How was kindergarten, Shawn?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Dad? You catch robbers, right?”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Sometimes. Why?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Because I think someone is robbing Miss Walle's house.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Why do you think that, Shawn?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Because there's some men taking stuff out of her house and putting it in a big truck.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Well maybe she's moving.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“I don't think they're movers.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Why not, Shawn?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Because they're only taking like, her TV and stuff like that. Expensive things. Not like, books or dishes or anything. And there aren't any boxes.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Well maybe they haven't gotten to the boxes yet.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“But Miss Walle said she was going to be here to watch my play in two months. How will she do that if she moves away?”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Sometimes things change, Shawn. And maybe she's not moving very far away. If she's only moving to another house in Santa Barbara she can still come see your play.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“I guess. But what if . . .”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“What if what, Shawn?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“What if the name of the moving company is spelled wrong?”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“What?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“The moving company's name. On the truck it says 'Smith and Sons Movers', but on the paper it says 'Smith and Son Movers'.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Well maybe it's old paperwork. Maybe there's another son now.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“But the address is wrong too.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“What address, Shawn?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“On the papers.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“What papers?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“The ones the guy in charge has. The address says 2114 King Street.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“So? How do you know that's wrong?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Because that's the address of the grocery store, Dad.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Wait, what? How do you know that?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“I know my numbers, Dad. I can count to thirty.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“No, Shawn, I mean how do you know the address of the grocery store?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Because it says it on the side of the building? Twenty-one and fourteen. And the street it's on is King Street.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“How did . . .”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Dad? Is something wrong? Isn't that how you read an address?”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“How did you know that? About the grocery store?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“I remembered it. Why? Was I not supposed to? Did I do something wrong?”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Why did you remember it?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“I don't know. I just did.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Did you memorize it?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“What's that mean?”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Did you try to remember it? Like with the alphabet and your numbers?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Ohh. No. I just . . . remembered it.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“But why were you even looking at it?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“I didn't do it on purpose! I just . . . You said that cops have to pay close attention to their surroundings and Mom was taking a long time to unlock the car and so I was looking around and I saw it and then when I saw the numbers on the papers the guy had I remembered it.”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“And you're sure it's the same?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Yeah. Why?”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“Exactly the same?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Yeah. Dad, why?”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“What's the address of the police station? Do you know?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“215 E Figueroa St?”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“I have to make a call. I'll be right back. Stay in the house.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“But I was going to go play at Gus' house!”

Kshhh-kshh. Kshhh-kshh.

“I'll take you over later, Shawn. Just stay here and stay inside.”

Beep. Beep. Bip.

Henry sat up straight in his chair.

Beep. Beep. Bip.

He held his breath, staring at the screen, his whole world contained in the little blue line as it arced up and down and measured out Shawn's life.

Beep.

No.

Beep.

Please, no.

. . .

Please.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Part 2