Shawn was freaking out, and Gus was relieved.

“You idiot!” Shawn hissed, and Gus could hear the anger and fear mixing in those two words.  “You idiot!” He repeated, his voice breaking.  His eyes were wide and glossy as they darted from his hands up to Gus’ eyes.  “Why’d you do it?” 

It was frustration and helplessness that Gus heard now, and he forced a smile for him.  “‘Cause you’re my…best friend.”  He would have shrugged as if to brush off the importance of the statement if he could move. 

As it was, Shawn’s hands were pressed so hard into his stomach Gus felt like he had been pinned to the floor.  Like a bug.  Just like that science project he had turned in for sixth grade, where he’d caught moths, butterflies, and a huge shiny black beetle with pinchers.  He’d put them in a shoebox and pinned them neatly into rows.

Gus had been so proud of his work…until he got to school and realized the huge shiny black beetle he’d assumed was dead, wasn’t and had actually gotten free and eaten the other bugs.

Shawn hadn’t been able to stop laughing, even as he unpinned half of his insects and gave them to Gus.

That was the first (and best) “C” Gus had ever gotten on his homework.

“Gus!  Stay with me!”

The panicked voice jolted him from the memory and he almost flinched at the shock.  “Where else’d…I go…?”

“Open your eyes!” Shawn commanded, his hand wet and warm on Gus’ cheek.

Gus pried his eyes open, surprised they’d slid shut in the first place.  Shawn’s eyes were glassy in shock and horror, but Gus still managed to smile at him.

Shawn was safe.  Gus had saved him.

…

Gus was not happy.  Not by a long shot.

“You said we were going to get something to eat!” he accused, crossing his arms as he glared at Shawn.

“We are.  After I finish going through Gargoyle’s office.”

“Gargile,” Gus automatically corrected, rolling his eyes.  He saw Shawn’s amused expression and glowered even more.

“Oh, don’t be a Grumpy Gus,” Shawn cooed, and Gus curled his hand into a fist. 

He had every right to be grumpy.  Nothing had gone his way that day.  First he’d burned his breakfast and then he’d spilled toothpaste all down his favorite shirt.  To make matters even worse, his Blueberry had betrayed him by not starting, which had made him late for his real job.  And just when he’d thought his day was looking up because he’d finished his rounds early, Shawn had dragged him there.  To Gargoy…Gargile’s office, instead of the simple lunch Shawn had promised.

The creepy office in the creepy warehouse, with cardboard boxes stacked taller than him in a creepy, maze-like layout.  And that didn’t take into account the guards patrolling the building-not creepy, but most definitely unsettling-and Gus had that creepy-crawly feeling that they were being watched.

“Shawn, we need to go!”

“In a minute, buddy.  I haven’t…Oooh.  Well…there we go.”

Gus turned around to see Shawn’s discovery.  “What?”

“It’s a manifest-”

A thump from the hallway cut Shawn off, and both friends spun around, Gus with a sinking feeling that something very, very bad was about to happen.

“Go out the back way,” Shawn whispered, tugging Gus’ arm as he continued to watch the doorway in front of them.

Another thump and Gus didn’t need any more urging.  Both friends darted for the back door, momentarily fighting to get through at the same time before Gus used his bony elbows to push through just as a shout sounded from behind them.  Then they were running, darting down the hallways as they tried to lose their pursuers.  Gasping for breath, they didn’t stop until the footsteps following them had faded. 

They leaned heavily against each other for a few moments as they listened for anyone who might be trying to sneak up on them, and then Shawn grinned.  “I think we’re good.  And I’m starving.  Have you ever tried Shawarma?”

…

He’d been in a bad mood before they’d been captured (moments after Shawn had proclaimed their successful escape), but now that they had guns pointing at them and big, muscled guys glaring at them, Gus was in a foul mood.  He didn’t often get like that, but it had been the perfect storm of bad events for him.  He was livid; at himself, at the bad guys, but at Shawn most of all.

Himself, because he’d let Shawn drag him into this stupid outing.  At the bad guys, because, hello, guns and muscles and glares, and at Shawn, because his best friend had gotten them into another dangerous situation.

He took a deep breath, clenching his jaw and breathing out slowly.

“Lamaze breathing?”  Shawn muttered, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.  “I haven’t heard that in a long time.”

“Shut up, Shawn,” he snapped, focused on the big baddie in front of the pack. Of the four guards, he was easily the biggest and meanest.

“He’s like Mr. Clean,” Shawn whispered, awe tingeing his voice.

“Shawn…” True, the guard did share a likeness to the cleaning wizard, with his bald head, blue eyes, and…yep, even a little gold hoop that winked at Gus in the dim lighting; but they really didn’t need to anger the guards any more than they already had.

“Shut up,” the Mr. Clean imposter hissed, and Gus snapped his mouth shut.

Shawn did not.

“Dude, you should enter a look-a-like contest.  You’d totally win!”

The punch snapped Shawn’s head to the side and made Gus flinch. The situation, which Gus would have found as an adrenaline rush after he finished his hissy fit, suddenly took a harsher turn.  While the two friends had encountered violent henchmen and criminals before, it wasn’t a usual occurrence.  The bad guys were only supposed to threaten them and wave their guns around a little.

“Don’t-” Gus protested, his voice hoarse as he caught sight of his best friend’s split lip.

“It’s a nice little set-up your boss has here,” Shawn broke in, voice pitched slightly louder than Gus’.

“Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Spencer.”

Gus barely restrained himself from turning around to face the newcomer, only the guns waving in his face stopping him at the last moment.  Shawn ignored the warning and turned to face Ben Gargile-suspected, and now confirmed, head of the drug smuggling ring that had tried to take root in Santa Barbara-which of course left Shawn open for the pistol whip that Mr. Clean decided was necessary.

Shawn sucked in a harsh gasp and staggered into Gus, whose arms automatically reached out to catch him.  Gargile snapped at the guard, disciplining him for acting without his permission, and Gus took the moment to check his friend over.

“Please don’t tick off the bad guys,” he whispered once he was sure Shawn would live.

A soft laugh, really nothing more than a huff, and Shawn squeezed the hand he had wrapped around Gus’ arm.  “You don’t…don’t think it’s a good idea?”

“Not so much.  Just…just hang tight until backup gets here, okay?”

“No promises,” Shawn said, squinting up at Gus with a half smirk.  “I can’t always control myself.”

…

Gus had been warm before, almost too warm, toasty, actually.  Kind of like when he fell asleep on the beach, the warmth from the sun pleasant and too much all at one time.

He was freezing now; so cold his teeth chattered.

“Sh…Sh…Shawn,” he shivered.  He fumbled for Shawn’s hand, grabbing on tightly when he found what he was searching for.

“Gus…” Shawn’s voice was choked, emotion threatening to overwhelm the little control he had left.  “You’re going to be fine, Gus.  I promise.”

Gus lifted his eyebrows, eyes sliding shut of their own accord.  “Don’t…keep…”

“I’ll keep this promise, Gus,” Shawn replied fiercely, correctly guessing what Gus was trying to say.  “I won’t break this one.”

It was oddly comforting, even as Gus knew it wasn’t true.  “S’okay.  Not…your fault…Shawn.”

“Yes, it is.  It is, and God…please…I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, Gus, so-No! No! Let me go! Let me go!”

The hands that had been pinning him to the floor disappeared, Shawn missing from Gus’ sight when he finally opened his eyes.

“No!” A yell, struggles, voices demanding, pleading…and the hands were back again, bringing with them a fresh wave of agony flowing from his wound throughout his body.

“I’m back.  It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Shawn chanted over Gus’ groan.

And then three words broke through the haze of pain and Shawn’s litany.  “Kill them both.”

…

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Spencer?  Or did you find what you were looking for when you were snooping through my office?” Gargile lifted his eyebrows, patiently waiting for Shawn’s answer.

Lie, lie, lie, Gus urged silently.  He knew Shawn had found what he needed to destroy Gargile’s operation, even though Shawn hadn’t had a chance to tell him what it was.

“I meant no offense,” Shawn smirked.  “You have your profession, I have mine.”

“Of course not,” Gargile answered.  He clasped his hands behind his back and made a slow circuit around the two friends.  “Though one would wonder how the police department would take the tip that you broke onto my premises.  Any evidence you found would be useless, correct?”

“It would be…if the spirits hadn’t made me do it.”

He was so confident that excuse would get him out of trouble, so sure, and Gus wanted to shake him.  The excuse had a shelf life, not the least when his little secret came out.

“And Gus’ excuse?”

Gus flicked his eyes to Shawn and back to Gargile, opening his mouth to play his part when Shawn beat him to it.

“Gus doesn’t break in.  On the contrary, he does everything he can to snap me out of my trance.  Unfortunately for him, the trance often rubs off on him and he helps become a conductor for the spirits.”

Gargile nodded, coming to a stop directly in front of them.  He tilted his head, “So Gus knows my secrets, too?  I must say that doesn’t bode well for the both of you.”

Gus felt his stomach clench, recognizing the threat in Gargile’s words as a promise.

“Of course not.  The spirits like me better and only tell me the secrets.  In fact, after Gus and I leave this building, he won’t remember a bite of what happens here.”

Gus swallowed, cleared his throat.  “Lick,” he said hoarsely. “Won’t remember a lick.”

Shawn snapped his fingers and pointed at Gus. “What he said.  Anyway Mr. Garfunkel, we’ll leave now, if you don’t mind.”

Gargile leaned forward, encroaching on Shawn’s personal space, his faux-friendly demeanor quickly melting away as he narrowed his eyes at Shawn.  “What did you find, Mr. Spencer?”

Shawn grinned, but it was more a baring of his teeth than a friendly response.  “That’s for me to know, and you to find out during your trial.”

Gargile breathed deeply and stepped away, glancing at Mr. Clean as he did so.  “That’s unfortunate, Mr. Spencer.  It truly is.”

…

The bullet had ripped through his abdomen, and at first, Gus had felt nothing but satisfaction.  He’d managed to shove Shawn out of the way, managed to save him this pain, at the very least.  The next thing he’d felt was the pain, more pain than he’d ever felt—agony, agony, agony. 

He couldn’t even articulate the torture, his voice only able to produce a low moan.

He’d heard Shawn make a noise like that once before, when he’d fallen asleep on the couch in the office.  He’d just been released from the hospital following the ice cream truck case, and he’d had a dream, a nightmare, actually.  He’d tossed and turned, and Gus had hurried to wake him; but he hadn’t been in time.  The groan had closed his throat and made it hard to breathe, especially when he realized Shawn had been all alone when he’d been shot; that he’d been in pain, scared, with only himself to count on and a hurried text that hadn’t really made sense.

He’d shaken Shawn awake to see haunted hazel eyes blinking up at him, still lost in the terrifying memories, and Gus had felt a surge of protection.  His best friend shouldn’t have gone through that.

When he’d seen Mr. Clean raise his gun and aim it at Shawn, all he’d seen were those lost eyes, all he’d heard was the tortured groan.

He’d needed to save Shawn.

And he had. 

He’d broken out of the guard’s grip, pushed Shawn out of the way, and took the bullet meant for his best friend.

…

Gus pulled against the hands holding him immobile; panicked, frenzied, yelling for it to stop, please stop, stop, stop, stop.

The hits, they just kept landing on Shawn.  Blow after blow, punch after punch, kick after kick.  It may have been a few minutes or it may have been an hour, Gus didn’t know; but Shawn was already spitting blood out of his mouth and groaning through his forced laughter.

“Seriously, guys?” He gasped.  “This the only thing you could think of to get me to talk?  Fried Twinkies could have done that.  With…a side of pancakes.”

“P…pancakes?” Gus stuttered, chest heaving as he sucked in huge bursts of air.  He didn’t want to play this game, didn’t want to joke around as if nothing was wrong.  As if Shawn wasn’t bruised and beaten, as if Gus wasn’t being held back by one measly little guard that he should have been able to break away from, but couldn’t.  (If Gus had to guess, it was Mr. Clean’s slightly smaller, younger brother, with plenty of muscle to spare.)

Shawn needed this, though.  This was the only way Gus could help him.

Shawn’s head was hung low, but his shoulders lifted at Gus’ question. “Pancakes.  Topped with nutella.”

Gus’ nostrils flared, his struggles ceasing for just a moment as he lost himself in the absurdity.  He barely noticed the guard’s grip loosening.  “That’s disgusting.”

Shawn tilted his head, but he still wasn’t looking at Gus.  “Maybe,” he agreed.  “Still want to try it.”

Gus blinked and missed it.  One second Shawn was kneeling on the floor and the next he was tackling the nearest guard.  He took them all by surprise, but Gargile was calm, collected. 

He should be.  He had his own gun.

One that was suddenly pointing at Shawn.

Apparently, he’d decided he wasn’t going to worry about what they had seen anymore; he was just going to kill them.  And he was going to start with Shawn, if the aim of his gun was true.

Gus knew it was, even as he knew he wasn’t going to let that happen.  He couldn’t, wouldn’t, and so he finally managed to break free and dive toward Shawn, pushing him out of the way just in time.

…

“Kill them both.”

Those three words sent a wave of fear through him, but he could do nothing more than mutter his pleas to the contrary.  “No…please…” 

He wasn’t begging for himself.

Shawn shushed him, one hand still pinning Gus to the floor, the other resting against his cheek again.  “Ignore them, Gus.  It’s…it’s going to be fine.  We…we’re on the water, Gus; just you, me, Juliet, my dad…We’re on the boat, but don’t worry, we’re not…we’re not fishing.”

Gus heard the forced smile in his voice, wondered briefly why Shawn was spinning a story for him.

There was a clicking noise, and Shawn broke away from his story.  “No…please.  Let me…let me finish.  Please.”  Shawn was the one begging now, and Gus knew it wasn’t for himself.  It was for Gus.  Gus just didn’t understand why.

“Let him finish,” came the order, and Shawn sighed.

“It’s warm out, Gus.  Can you feel it?  The…the sun is shining; the waves are gently rocking the boat.  Dad’s wearing an ugly shirt, but what else is new?  And you and I…we’re playing Go Fish.  It’s our compromise.  We’ll go fishing with Dad, but not really…”

Gus’ lips twitched, humor breaking through the fiery agony that had consumed him.

“It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?  It’s nice and warm, so warm it’s making you sleepy.  Do you…do you feel it, Gus?”

Shawn couldn’t really speak anymore, Gus could tell, and he wanted to ask why, but he was warm.  The chill that had overtaken him was receding in the face of Shawn’s words.  He was warm and sleepy now, full of good images, and the pain was becoming a distant nuisance that he didn’t really notice anymore.

It hit him with sudden clarity.  He was dying.

“You’re tired,” Shawn whispered.  “It’s okay to…to sleep, buddy.  It’s okay.”

Gus smiled, eyelids lifting for one last glimpse, gaze full of all the words he wanted to say, but couldn’t.  The waves Shawn had created for him were soothing, and a deep sleep was beckoning him. 

Shawn forced a smile in return, his chest hitching.  “It’s okay,” he whispered again, and Gus let go.

…

Gus knew he had been dying, thought he had let go with Shawn’s final words to him and wouldn’t wake up again.  So he was expecting (hoping) to see white when he next opened his eyes, and he did.  It wasn’t the sparkling whiteness of heaven that he saw, however.  In fact, it looked like nothing more than a depressing hospital room, with while walls, a white ceiling, and white bed sheets.  Where were the harps and angels?  The fluffy white clouds and big pearly gates? 

He had hazy memories of seeing the room before this, of having worried faces staring down at him…but they were fleeting impressions, gone before he could analyze their importance.

He scrunched his face in confusion at the drabness, at the exact opposite of what he was expecting.  At least it wasn’t fire and brimstone.  If Shawn’s ability to pull him into trouble had landed him in the opposite direction of Heaven, then he would have had to haunt Shawn’s butt; but this…this didn’t look like any Hell or Heaven he’d ever imagined.

“Probably because it’s not,” came a voice by his ear. 

Gus blinked in surprise and turned to look, blinking again as Shawn’s face slowly came into focus.  “Huh?” was his intelligent response, and Shawn huffed, the humor that appeared in the quirk of his lips quickly belied by his dull eyes.  Gus cleared his throat, surprised by how hoarse the question had sounded, sipping greedily when Shawn magically produced a cup of water and held the straw to his lips.

Shawn opened his mouth, closed it, and then pursed his lips as he settled back in his chair after Gus had his fill.  Exhaustion was spreading through Gus even though he’d only been awake for a few moments, but Shawn’s struggle to speak was more than enough incentive to fight sleep’s seductive pull.  “You really think I’d drag you to Hell?” Shawn finally asked, head tilted as he studied Gus.

A furrowing of his eyebrows, surprise over that particular question, was enough for Shawn to shake his head and mutter a “never mind.”

Gus squinted, trying to force his mind back into gear.  Shawn looked like…well, he looked like Hell, and considering Gus’ surprise at finding himself alive (which was just now beginning to settle in), he could understand why.  He didn’t know how long he’d been out, but it had been long enough that some of the bruises on Shawn’s face were just past their peak, that dark shadows not related to those bruises had been etched beneath his eyes.

“Happened…?”

“It was too close, man,” Shawn whispered.  His head drooped, his shoulders trembling with his shudder.  The image was so similar to his posture when the guards had been trying to get him to talk that Gus’ eyes clenched shut for a moment in remembered horror. 

Shawn shook his head and looked back up at Gus, mouth lifting in what Gus assumed was supposed to be a smile.

It wasn’t.

“You sly dog; you, uhh…you texted Jules when you realized where I was taking you.  She and Lassie brought backup and paramedics when we didn’t respond to any of her urgent texts to ‘not enter the building.’” Shawn grimaced at the words.  “They…they got there just in time.  Good thing, too.  Your parents flayed me alive over what happened; they might just have murdered me if…” Shawn’s voice broke, and he looked away, blinking quickly. 

“Surprised they let you in the room,” Gus whispered.  It was meant to be a teasing comment, but Gus missed the mark by a mile if the sudden rigidity to Shawn’s shoulders was any indication.

“They didn’t want to.  Not at first.  They took pity on me when I, uh, I fell asleep on the floor outside your door.”

Gus winced, cursing the pain meds that he could feel coursing through his body for slowing his wits.  He was in no shape to have this conversation right then, but it wasn’t something Gus was going to try to put off until he was better. 

Shawn had swallowed his fear and pain, horror and grief just to let Gus’ last moments be peaceful, not frightening.  He had fought to not leave his side as Gus struggled to stay alive, and he had not deserted Gus in the hospital. 

The least Gus could do now that he had finally truly woken up was relieve that heavy feeling of guilt that Gus could see just with a look into his friend’s lifeless eyes.

“Probably…should have gone home, Shawn…”  He hurried to finish when he saw the hurt flash across his friend’s eyes.  “Showered, maybe shaved ‘cause, dude…the mountain man look so doesn’t work for you.”

Shawn froze, his eyes glued to Gus’ face as the words filtered through the layers of self-flagellation he’d been indulging in for the last who knew how long.  Gus didn’t say “I’m okay,” or “You’re my best friend and I know you, I love you, and I don’t blame you.”  Not really.  Except…when a spark slowly flared to life in Shawn’s eyes, when Shawn finally managed to straighten his slumped shoulders, Gus knew Shawn had gotten the messages that Gus hadn’t said, but meant.

“I can totally pull this look off,” Shawn managed to look offended at Gus’ comment, and Gus felt his lips twitch.

“Whatever makes you….sleep at night,” Gus slurred, smiling at Shawn’s splutter.

He immediately began to fire back a list of reasons why Gus was wrong, but Gus wasn’t paying attention to the words anymore; just to the lulling cadence of a voice as familiar to him as his parents’.

It was easier to drift away then, because Shawn’s eyes were alive again and Gus knew he would be okay.  They both will be.

Shawn saved him, and he saved Shawn.  Just like always.