AN: Last chapter :)

Juliet, Lassiter and Chief Vick talk amongst themselves for a few minutes, exchanging what information they have gathered about the robbery ring. They are so involved in doing this that they don't notice that both Shawn and Gus have disappeared from view. It isn't until Lassiter snipes something like, "O'Hara, was it really necessary to get Spencer down here?" that anybody notices.

Juliet turns to look at where Shawn was previously standing and instead stares at the pavement. "That's weird," she says, petite features crinkling in confusion. "Where are Shawn and Gus?"

Meanwhile…

As soon as Shawn enters the back of the building, Gus is right behind him. It's always been like this, so it only makes sense; Shawn makes the first step and, blindly, Gus follows, no matter how bleak the outcome looks.

Right now, it looks really bleak.

The door they walk into leads to what is presumably the break room. There are a few rows of vending machines lined up at the wall and Shawn stops at one and cocks his head. "You know what," he says airily. "I haven't had a Zebra Cake since I was nine. Do you think they taste the same?"

Gus puts his palm over his eyes. "Oh my God, Shawn."

Shawn rummages through his pocket and produces two quarters. "Damn, it's seventy-five cents. When did these get so expensive?"

"Shouldn't we be worrying about, oh, I don't know, the armed and dangerous men that are a few feet away from us? And the fact that they can probably hear…" Gus's voice trails off and he slowly turns around, somehow already expecting this.

The large, six foot three man with impossibly foreboding biceps is standing at the threshold of the doorway, arms crossed and sporting an impressive scowl.

"Aw, hell," Shawn mutters. "Hey, buddy; you wouldn't happen to have a quarter would you?"

The man takes Shawn and Gus out of the breakroom and into the adjoining area, which is currently housing the hostages. He pushes them roughly onto the floor.

"Hey – what the hell?" the man behind the counter asks, hand flitting to his side where his gun is located.

"Found these two in the breakroom," the scowl is still on his face. "Don't know how we missed 'em."

Shawn raises his head and here he is: the star performer. He can act, goddamn he can act.

"Oh, don't mind us," Shawn says, gesturing to himself and Gus. "We were just stopping by. Heard there was a swell party going on in here and didn't want to miss all the fun."

The scowling man kicks Shawn directly in his stomach and he wheezes, clutching himself protectively.

Gus looks on in horror and thinks, outcome really bleak now.

The man stalks away and Gus scoots closer to Shawn, his mouth practically skimming his best friend's ear. "Are you okay?" he whispers urgently. Shawn is constantly trying to prove to the world that he is invincible but Gus has seen him injured far too many times to believe it.

Shawn wrenches himself out of the fetal position he is in slowly, trying not to jar his injury further. "Yeah," he says. "I'm alright."

Gus's mouth sets in a firm line. He is feeling the familiar wave of anger he gets after following Shawn into a disaster. He wants to be furious and scream at Shawn but, once again, Shawn didn't drag him in, not really. Gus followed because he can't imagine Shawn going on these expeditions alone.

"What are we going to do?" Gus persists, unable to sit in silence.

Shawn hesitates.

Gus feels himself becoming more anxious than angry. "You didn't even think about it?"

Shawn shrugs, uncharacteristically silent. Gus is suddenly worried that this will all be his responsibility now. His best friend has been having a weird couple of days. He remembers Shawn mentioning going to the doctor and he wonders if they will make it home by then.

Nearby, patrons of the bank are in clusters. A few older women stick together, heads bowed, perhaps praying. A mother and two children are closest to the door; most likely they had been trying to get away when the action started. A man seemingly Shawn's age is trembling violently next to Gus and he feels the urge to say something, even though it probably won't do any good.

"It'll be alright," Gus says to the man adjacent to him. "My buddy and I get out of these types of situations for a living." He jerks his thumb towards Shawn as a reference but Shawn still has a frozen expression on his face, as if he became terrified suddenly and then someone put him on pause.

The man, still trembling, gives Gus a raise of his eyebrows.

"He doesn't…normally look like that," Gus explains feebly.

The man looks over at Shawn and then back at Gus as if to say, yeah, right.

Shawn snaps to sudden attention like a rubber band. "Gus, I've got a plan!" he says excitedly, like he hadn't just been sitting there completely zoned out.

"Shawn," Gus says slowly, not understanding these new habits of his best friend. But Shawn ignores him. His eyes are bright and his movements are spastic. He's back; he's ready to act again.

"I figured it out, Gus," he says, voice euphoric. "I can do this."

At that moment, the man that had caught them in the breakroom makes a lunge for the woman and children. The woman has been inching the door open with her shoe, prying it bit by bit, perhaps to give her children space to flee when no one is watching. Gus's stomach clenches as he realizes the man lunging has his gun raised.

Shawn dives in, running and leaping onto the man's back before taking both arms and latching them around his neck. The man, choking, lunges backwards and attempts to shake the pseudo-psychic off but Shawn won't let go. Shawn makes a desperate grab for the handgun but he can't quite reach it and is thrust onto the floor when the other man gets the upper hand. He aims his gun at Shawn.

"Wait," Shawn pleads, sitting up, hand raised.

The man shoots.

Shawn's body jolts and he collapses onto the floor. Screams are heard throughout the bank. The mother and her children bolt out of the front entrance. The man behind the desk abandons the phone and starts blindly shooting at the ceiling and floors, scaring the other civilians into staying put.

Gus can feel his heart palpitating. His best friend just got shot in the chest.

Chaos is unfolding around him as the hostages either duck for cover from the bullets or simply break for an exit. No one else seems to have been injured yet but Gus only has eyes for Shawn as he inches toward him, head tucked into his chest. It's an awkward maneuver and it's terrifying but suddenly two of the gang robbers are against each other and the third one is attempting to break them apart. So he has some time.

The last member of the group is lingering by the door, looking outside and frantically yelling incoherent obscenities to his friends who are too busy trying to shoot each other. Periodically he fires a stray bullet or two to cause more chaos and outside, the SBPD are boiling. It isn't protocol to rush in and spray some of their own bullets, but Lassiter really looks as if he is itching to. Orders are being shouted and police officers and detectives are running rampant.

Without putting much thought into it, Gus wraps his hands underneath the armpits of his best friend and, as carefully as he can manage, forcing himself not to look down at his friend's bleeding chest, drags him into a nearby office. He deposits Shawn below the window and frantically stacks two chairs on top of each other at the door.

Shawn's eyes have been closed since he was shot and his chest is impossibly still. Gus chokes back the bile rising from his throat. Of course it's always been possible that Shawn could injure himself or yes, even die, while on one of these dangerous expeditions. Of course Gus had thought countless times that they actually would die or at least suffer a broken bone or two. They never had.

Gus supposes this is fate finally catching up to them.

He kneels down to him, ear to his chest, checking for a heartbeat. He remembers Shawn's reveal just hours ago, the I have superpowers thing. He had mentioned something about healing, hadn't he? His thoughts are too muddled to parse anything out. He numbly places his hands over Shawn's chest to begin to make compressions. The crimson blood is sliding and gathering in the places where Gus attempts to put his hands and he breathes through his mouth before he the smell takes harbor in his nostrils.

He pumps his hands once, twice, three times. "Shit," he says, deviating from the usual script people are supposed to have for these situations. Stay with me, hold on and damn it, don't die on me all sound false in his mind.

The chaos from outside of the office door seems to quiet down. There are pounding footsteps and muffled shouting but Gus doesn't give it much thought. His best friend is sprawled out on the floor with a gunshot wound. There are bigger things to think about.

Gus does what he learned in his CPR safety course but nothing seems to be rousing Shawn. He checks for a pulse two times but Shawn looks to be, well, dead.

At that moment, Henry Spencer busts down the door.

Gus pauses in his chest compressions, wondering how in the hell Henry Spencer got here. How did he get down here and so quickly? How much time has passed? What happened to everyone else in the building? It feels like he is thinking for a prolonged amount of time but it is only seconds that Henry stands at the now busted doors, kicks the chairs aside and runs to Shawn's prone body.

"What happened?" Henry demands, hands running up and down Shawn's body, before his eyes settle on the large wound on his son's chest.

Gus can't speak for a moment but then sputters, "He was shot. He wasn't breathing…I tried to give him CPR but…" he looks at Henry, guilt in his eyes.

Henry doesn't want to give up on his son and he attempts chest compressions, too. He gives strong, heavy pumps of his hands, breathing life into Shawn and beginning again.

"Damn it," he whispers, furiously pumping his hands against his son's heart. "Christ," he looks as disappointed and scared as Gus feels, knowing that this is a fruitless attempt but not ready to admit it, at least not out loud.

Finally, Henry's hands, slimy in Shawn's blood, slide off and rest in his lap. He seems stunned, immovable.

Gus is in shock himself but can't imagine how Henry feels. "Mr. Spencer…" he begins feebly, wondering how to comfort him. Suddenly, he is interrupted by a loud coughing noise and Gus looks up from the floor but Henry isn't the one coughing.

Shawn is coughing and leaning up from the floor, hand on his chest in confusion. His eyes search the room wildly and Henry scoots closer to his son. "Shawn – Shawn, are you okay?" Henry asks urgently, not thinking that, mere moments ago, Shawn had been dead.

Shawn shakes his head in confusion and coughs even louder than before. He clears his throat dramatically, much the way someone would when they have the common cold. He spits something into his palm and Gus leans in closer to see what it is.

A bullet.

"Ho-ly shit," Gus says aloud.

Henry looks both relieved and angry. "What – what the hell is going on?!" he demands, swiveling from Gus and then back to Shawn.

Shawn picks the bullet up and pinches it between two fingers, scrutinizing it with the intensity of a CSI lab tech.

"Shawn," Henry says, sounding desperate.

Shawn turns to his father as if he is hearing him for the first time. "Dad," he says slowly. "Boy do I have a story to tell you."

Shawn reluctantly rides in an ambulance to the hospital. He is already healed, the only evidence of his getting shot the remnant streaks of blood marring his skin. Henry sits next to him the whole way, a firm expression on his face. Gus sits in the front seat of the ambulance, chatting amicably with the EMT driving about proper medication for back pain.

Shawn had explained what he could to Henry before the SBPD found them in the cramped office. Before anyone could have noticed, he slipped the bullet in his back pocket. Juliet and Chief Vick were noticeably concerned while Lassiter had seemed suspicious.

At the hospital, Shawn is given a clean bill of health and allowed to go home. The doctors are just as baffled as they were when he got struck by lightning. They murmur their suspicions to each other as they walk by and Henry glares at them until they are gone.

The SBPD doesn't ask Shawn for his statement, instead gently reassuring him that they will ask for it at a later time when he feels more comfortable.

It isn't until they arrive to Henry's house that everyone finally speaks.

Henry makes some coffee, the loud, rumbling of the maker the only noise in the entire house. Henry pours himself and Gus a mug but doesn't offer any to Shawn. Once he sits down, he sighs heavily and pours some sugar into his mug before asking, "Alright, what the hell, Shawn?"

"To be fair, all of this started happening a few days ago," Shawn admits, wishing he had a mug to hide behind. He doubts Henry will allow him that concession.

Henry raises an eyebrow. "Is that why you were acting strange the other day?"

Shawn shrugs. "I guess so."

Henry suddenly turns to Gus. "And you knew about this?"

Gus looks down at his drink, swirling the mixture with a nearby spoon. "I just found out today. Shawn has had some…interesting developments."

"Like the healing," Henry says flatly.

Shawn sticks out a hand, ticking things off on his fingers. "Seeing from far distances, hearing from far distances, jumping abnormally high, excessive strength and healing."

"This is because of you getting struck by lightning," Henry has that same, flat tone.

Shawn studies his father for a moment. "Do you believe me?" he asks. The cadence of his voice is so honest that Henry gives pause. This is his son. He should feel no reason not to believe him, despite how ludicrous the entire situation is.

"Yes," he finally admits, surprising both Gus and Shawn.

"I'm supposed to be seeing a doctor tonight," Shawn says, as if he is suddenly remembering. Going to see Peter had been the plan this morning but that now seems like a lifetime ago. Peter probably won't be too pleased to hear that Shawn got shot in the chest today.

"You haven't seen a doctor yet?" Henry asks incredulously. His son is so stupidly careless with his own life that Henry is perpetually doing the worrying for him.

Shawn explains his experience at the hospital after getting struck by lightning and the mysterious symptoms afterward. He tells Henry who Peter is and what he had offered to do to help Shawn. Throughout all this, Shawn's tone of voice is clipped and measured, calculating like a police detective. Maybe even a little weary. Henry supposes this makes sense but can't help but ask his son, "Are you okay?"

Shawn's eyes flit up from looking down at the table.

Henry repeats himself, slower this time. "Are. You. Okay?" he will loathe himself forever if he doesn't ask now and fuck the attitude they've kept with each other these past few months. They always shy away from the big things, the questions with too many variables or the ones that hold any real emotional weight. Henry has been worried about his son and it isn't a crime to do so.

Shawn seems just as surprised as Henry feels but answers honestly. "It's been a weird few days but I'm surprisingly doing alright, all things considering." His eyes momentarily flash down to his chest where the bullet had been. It's still in his shirt pocket, right now, and Henry can see the small outline of it. It makes him feel nauseous. He pushes his coffee away.

Henry stares straight ahead for a few moments, absently thinking about Madeline. Maybe he should call her. This is her son, too. He won't, though. He'll leave that responsibility up to Shawn. Even after they separated, if Shawn got injured or failed another class and needed both parents on the scene, Henry had always been hesitant to call. She had walked out of their lives so seamlessly it almost felt like she had never been there at all. She would be an unnatural fit in this kitchen, right now.

Shawn and Gus exchange a look between each other. Then, Shawn looks down at his watch.

"Hey dad, mind giving me a ride somewhere?"

Peter is anxiously pacing back and forth in his cramped office when Shawn, Gus and Henry arrive in the threshold of the doorway.

"Shawn!" Peter exclaims, lunging toward him like they've known each other all their lives. Gus raises an eyebrow at his actions but Peter dismisses him. He had seen the news coverage of the younger man having been shot at the scene of a crime but walking away, virtually fine. He knows this has something to do with the situation Shawn had informed him of this morning.

"Hey," Shawn raises his hands. "I'm alright, doc."

Peter's eyes scan him from his scalp to his toenails, dubious. If what Shawn had said this morning was true, that his body may be exerting too much energy for an average human, then they had a hell of a problem on their hands. Shawn was a thrill-seeker, a hell-chaser. A bullet tearing through his chest cavity was not a step in the right direction.

Henry sticks out his rough palm to greet the doctor. "Henry Spencer," he says brusquely. "I'm Shawn's father."

Peter looks hesitant, unsure of what Shawn has told the men flanking his sides.

Shawn waves his hand airily. "It's cool; I told them already."

Peter still looks hesitant, but gestures that they sit down. There are only two chairs and Gus makes to sit in the one opposite Shawn until Henry glares him into standing behind them. Gus crosses his arms, looking miffed.

"So," Peter clears his throat awkwardly. "It should be obvious that I know about what happened earlier."

Shawn nods, looking chastised. "I had everything under control."

Henry snorts.

Peter looks from father to son, noting that this must be a familiar pattern. "And why would you think that?"

"I had a plan of getting control of the scene," Shawn says, talking like a detective, surprising both Henry and Gus. "It was when the mother and her children in the corner made things difficult. They were trying to get away, and rightfully so, but the other guys didn't like that too much."

"And then you got in the middle of it," Peter says.

Shawn shrugs. "I did what I had to do."

Henry rolls his eyes.

"Do you feel any residual pain?" Peter asks Shawn. "Any struggles with movement?" he lifts himself up from the chair. "Would you mind if I…?"

Shawn shrugs and unbuttons his checkered shirt, allowing the doctor a close look at his chest. He has been exercising, taking care of his body and it shows. Gus pretends like he doesn't notice but Henry can't help but say something.

"Well," he remarks, "looks like you decided to stop binging on the McDonald's dollar menu." His comment is more cutting than he intended. Shawn ducks his head, embarrassed and Peter shoots Henry a stern look.

Henry folds in on himself, resolutely silent.

"Well," Peter says softly, examining Shawn's skin with intensity. "There's not even a mark." He taps various spots on Shawn's chest, asking him if he feels any pain. He checks his breathing. He asks him to jump and down and do some jumping jacks. It makes Shawn feel ridiculous but Peter doesn't want to be the one responsible if Shawn suddenly slumps to the floor and never rises.

Shawn reaches into his shirt pocket and places the bullet in the doctor's hand silently.

"This was…?" Peter's eyes lift and land on Shawn's chest. The pseudo-psychic nods.

"Goddamn," Peter hisses, picking it up and examining it, end to end. "How did your body expel this?"

Shawn looks solemn. "I coughed it out."

Peter looks up to Gus. "I heard you were there, too."

Gus nods.

"Were you there when he was shot? How long was he unconscious?"

Gus looks hesitant but then his expression smooths out. "Maybe twenty-five minutes, thirty at the most."

"What happened during? Afterwards?"

"He immediately went unconscious. I managed to get him into a different room when the chaos continued and he wasn't breathing. I tried to do CPR but nothing was working. Henry," he jerked his head toward him, "tried CPR too when he showed up. We stopped for maybe a minute and then Shawn woke up." Gus's expression is stony and Peter can only assume that he is remembering the incident again.

"That was when you coughed it out," Peter assumes.

Shawn nods.

Peter grabs a nearby otoscope and beckons Shawn, "Open." Shawn opens his mouth and Peter examines his throat carefully and his tonsils. "Everything looks normal," Peter places a hand on Shawn's shoulder, pivoting him so that he can glance within his ears as well. Finally, he stands up and appraises Shawn.

"Outwardly, you appear fine," Peter says. "But if you're still concerned about what we talked about earlier, and at this point, I know I am, we need to run some tests."

Henry scowls. "What did you talk about earlier?"

Shawn looks to Peter, as if he is now his spokesman.

"Well," Peter chooses his words carefully, rightfully assuming that Henry Spencer has a short fuse and doesn't want to upset him. "Shawn and I are concerned that, with these new abilities, his body may be having adverse reactions. I'm sure it will give everyone a peace of mind if we run some tests to rule out that hypothesis."

"Shawn," Henry says, "you didn't mention that to me."

"I was kind of preoccupied with other things today, dad," Shawn lets out a groan of frustration.

Peter waits silently.

"Okay," Henry raises his hands in surrender.

Peter takes Shawn's blood. He tests his sugar, his cholesterol. He makes him run on a treadmill. He tests his hearing and his sight (impeccable) and his reflexes. He scans his chest and his brain. He x-rays virtually every expanse of Shawn's body. He listens to his breathing; he listens for a heart murmur. He checks for lumps in irregular places, possible tumors. He spends four and a half hours swinging Shawn from one area of the hospital to the next, Henry and Gus dutifully trailing behind. Every test comes up negative, every glance at his throat or his ear is normal. Peter does every exam he can think of until Shawn is standing in front of him in a nearby breakroom, panting, "Can we take a break?"

Peter looks down at the clipboard in his hand. "I'll keep in touch with you, Shawn. Some of the exam's results should come back in a few days."

Shawn nods, looking weary.

Peter rests a hand on his shoulder. "Listen, from what I can surmise, you are perfectly fine. You obviously have some new changes in your life but, otherwise, you seem…normal. As normal as you can be, anyway."

Shawn doesn't say anything.

Peter steps closer so that Henry and Gus cannot hear. "Again, this goes without saying, but I will not speak a word of this to anyone. This is your personal business and the only people that have to know can be the ones standing in this room."

Finally, Shawn looks up from the floor and nods. "I know." He seems hesitant but then finally says, "Thank you."

Peter smiles. "Hey, I said if you ever needed anything to call me, didn't I?" they awkwardly reach to shake hands but then move in for a hug but then both men settle for clumsily embracing while patting each other's backs.

Henry, Shawn and Gus say their goodbyes to Peter and, as they walk away, Peter pulls the bullet Shawn had handed him out of his pocket. He rolls it back and forth, between his palms.

"Goddamn," he says to no one.

What follows are an odd couple of days.

Henry insists that Shawn stay with him in his house, and, surprisingly, Shawn agrees. Gus goes back to his apartment and to work. Juliet and Lassiter take Shawn's statement. Shawn wakes up early in the morning, is gone all day and appears long after his father has made dinner and settled down in his armchair to watch TV.

Shawn has to admit, he goes off the grid for a few days. The past week was a lot of things at once. He won't lie and say that he's never had a hectic few days (Ying and Yang still come to mind) but this feels…strange. Even his father takes note of his strange proceedings but doesn't say much.

Then, one day, Shawn snaps back like a rubber band, like always.

His Norton putters up to the front entrance of the police station and for a moment, he sits there, hesitant. He hopes that Juliet or Lassiter don't remark on his absence. He doesn't feel like explaining it – he might not even know how. He hops off, casting aside his helmet and stopping when he sees, from quite a far distance, a man that has Lassiter's build leaning against the back of the building. A puff of smoke floats in front of him before a cigarette drops and an Italian leather loafer grinds it out. The man steps away and Shawn realizes, it is Lassiter.

Oh, this is going to be good.

Shawn walks into the SBPD, greeting familiar faces along the way. He says hello to Cindy the receptionist with six dogs and a boyfriend that likes to dress up as Doctor Who, Lars, the janitor with the pet chinchilla that mops every morning at nine exactly and finally Buzz, who is walking by with a stack of manila envelopes bursting at the seams.

"Hey, Shawn!" Buzz raises a hand but the maneuver causes him to lose grip of one of the folders and the rest tumble down onto the tiled floor. Papers fly like feathers and Buzz looks up helplessly.

Shawn sighs but moves to help the man. They are sifting through the papers, putting them into the proper places when Lassiter storms by. Shawn jumps upright, seeking his opportunity.

"Lassieface!" he shouts, smile a foot long. He's back.

Lassiter doesn't bother turning around, instead choosing to mumble to himself, "No, no, not today…"

"Oh, yes," Shawn says exuberantly, running alongside the detective. "And might I just say, Lassiter, you might be able to run away faster if, you know, you didn't smoke so much."

Lassiter stops on a dime. When he speaks to Shawn, he grits his teeth so hard Shawn wonders if they will snap. "What. Did. You. Just. Say?" he demands.

Shawn grins. "Aw, Lassie, I'm just looking out for you. Smoking kills, you know." He takes note of the yellowing on Lassiter's fingers and wonders how long this has gone on. Months, most likely.

"Smoking?" Juliet is rounding the corner, papers in one hand, coffee in the other.

"You know Lassiter smokes?" Shawn is rubbing it in and he loves it, he really does.

Lassiter pales slightly.

"Carlton, you smoke?" Juliet is genuinely surprised and Shawn wonders how so many things slip past a detective as talented as she.

Lassiter hesitates, looking a mix between annoyed and mortified. "I used to smoke, yes. I quit some time ago and now and again I…relapse." Ducking his head, he walks away briskly and Juliet and Shawn look after him, confused.

Once Lassiter is gone, Juliet checks up on Shawn, asking how his health has been after the incident at the bank. They had arrested the robbery gang and all the loose ends had been tied up but Shawn still felt at odds. This probably has more to do with the whole superpowers situation, he knows, but he feels a little guilty almost, not letting Juliet in on it.

Shawn lingers around the station for a few more hours, causing a general nuisance and eventually leaving with the promise to turn up in the event of a new case. He stands outside the entrance, head tilted, feeling odd, feeling like something is amiss.

Over the next few days, things change.

Shawn stops hearing his next-door neighbor puttering around in her kitchen, rooting in the cabinets for her specialty coffee blend. It's not something he ever thought he would miss – but he had gotten used to it and now, when he wakes in the morning, the only noise he hears is the humming of the air conditioner.

It isn't just his neighbor that he has stopped hearing. It is…many people, many things. Often, he didn't have to try to hear anyone, he could hear noises from all different directions but when he stands in the middle of a nearby convenience store with a soda in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other, he doesn't hear anything. He can hear the clerk at the register talking about hail storms with the tattooed veterinarian buying Slim Jims. He can hear a mother bargaining with her child in the candy aisle. He can faintly hear a man in the parking lot cursing at the total cost of the gas he just put into his truck. But really, he cannot hear much more than he did before.

His impressive sight soon follows – it decreases so much that Shawn worries he may need glasses. If he squints, he can read signs in the distance. But he can't tell what the blonde woman down the street is texting on her phone or see the construction men miles away bickering over attractive celebrities.

In only a few days, Shawn's impressive abilities have dwindled.

He goes to Peter in a panic, convinced this has been all of his own doing, that he somehow made himself regress by getting shot that day. Plaguing him the entire drive to the hospital is the thought, what if he gets hurt again and has no healing powers to save the day?

Peter is just as puzzled as Shawn. He runs him down the list of tests he did only a week and a half ago and everything turns out normal. His hearing and vision are that of an average man, no longer superhuman. His physical strength and agility, however, are mostly intact. With a simple pinprick, it is easily discernable that his healing abilities are also intact. Shawn wonders why that is but Peter has no answers for him; he cannot explain the strange anomaly either.

"Perhaps this was leftover energy made by the lightning," is Peter's hasty explanation. "Maybe your body is returning to normalcy."

Shawn has to admit, the past few month has been strange for him. It has been confusing and exhilarating, exhausting and overall unbelievable. But normal? Normal is so…boring. So…well, normal. Shawn can't recall a time when he has ever used that word to describe his life.

He leaves Peter's office, feeling disconsolate. The news he just received makes him feel discouraged and ultimately, there isn't much he can do about it. There are no SBPD or Psych cases to occupy his mind. Henry is off carousing with a woman he met at some massage therapy center and Gus is, well, Gus is doing his job, as he's supposed to.

Shawn wanders around for a few days, feeling his body stop thrumming with the anxious anticipation he'd had since getting struck by lightning. He had felt powered by an energy too frenzied to name and now he feels like a man who hasn't slept in a week.

Juliet takes note of Shawn's behavior a few weeks later at a local case that may be a murder or just an accidental death. Shawn doesn't cry foul, mostly because he has no idea. None of the members of the SBPD can make sense of his behavior. Juliet had thought a case would stir up the excitement in Shawn but she was wrong.

Suddenly, as they are crouching over the dead body, Shawn feels like he has been kicked in his midsection. He clutches at himself, overwhelmed. The edges of his vision melt away, rendering everything into misshapen, gray shapes. He tries to speak but it feels like cotton is weighing down his tongue.

A form materializes in front of him – Chief Vick? Looking harried, looking concerned and waving around papers in her sweaty palms. "This behavior, it's synonymous with a serial killer whose work originated four towns over…"

A man is the background, crouching in a corner, nearly invisible. Shawn wants to reach out, to draw attention to him, but he presses a finger to his lips and vanishes like smoke, curling into every corner of the house and rising to the ceiling.

The gray, blurred sights around him come closer and closer, spiraling like a star until it pricks at his eyes and it is all he sees. He tries to grapple onto something but loses his footing, collapsing onto something that scratches at his skin. Desperately, he tries to work air into his lungs.

His world comes back into color, to Juliet crouching over him, concern washing over her. "Shawn?" she demands. "Are you okay?"

An SBPD officer rushes over to help Shawn up and he nods his appreciation, looking around wearily at everyone.

At that moment, Chief Vick storms through the front door with papers clenched in her hand.

Shawn gulps.

"This behavior, it's synonymous with a serial killer whose work originated four towns over…"

Shawn blanches. If he had just seen Chief Vick, moments ago, doing and saying the same things, what did this mean? Surely it couldn't have been a…vision. Was it ludicrous to think that, after all these years, he was finally turning into the man he had professed to be?

Right then, Shawn feels the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He turns to his left and sees the same man he had before, attempting to slink away unseen.

It hits him with sudden clarity; this really can't be explained in any other way. He has to be…psychic.

"Oh, no way," Shawn breathes.

the end