1987
Shawn knew he couldn't fly. He knew he would never run away to some far, distant never-never land that existed only beyond the stars. He knew he would never join a gang of lost boys who had run away from their own lives. And he knew he would never have wonderful adventures filled with piracy and sword fights and indians and near-death experiences.
Shawn knew he would never be Peter Pan. But whenever he was forced to sit in a sterile hospital room that smelled too much of antiseptic as liquids upon liquids were pumped through his tiny veins, oh how he wished he was.
0 o 0 o 0
2008
"I'm sorry, Mister Spencer. We've run every test we possibly can -- several times -- and all the results are the same," a woman in a white coat explained carefully, making sure the young man sitting in front of her was taking in what she was saying. He wasn't, of course. Her words swam in and out of his consciousness. All he managed to catch was the last half of a sentence. "-has returned, much worse than it was when you were a boy."
Shawn said nothing, gave no reaction to the news. When the woman seemed like she was done talking, he stood, grabbing his jacket from the coat hanger and walking out of the room, walking out of the hospital, walking away from the scary truth that he now faced.
Peter Pan never had cancer.
0 o 0 o 0
“Shawn!” Gus exclaimed with annoyance, standing from his desk as said person shuffled into the Psych office. “Where have you been? Vick's called every fifteen minutes for the past three hours looking for you!”
Shawn shivered, sluggishly rolling his jacket off of his shoulders and letting it slip down his arms. He pinched the fabric between numb fingers, catching the object before it fell to the floor, and set it down on his desk before sitting in his chair.
Gus eyed him critically. “It's eighty-five degrees outside. What are you doing wearing a jacket?”
Shawn ignored the question, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through it. “What does Vick want?” He asked almost bitterly.
“It probably has something to do with a case,” the pharmaceutical salesman shrugged, still studying his friend intently. “We should go now before she blows a gasket. I think this one really has the SBPD stumped.”
Shawn nodded absently, frowning as he closed the drawer without retrieving anything. “Okay. Let's go.”He stood slowly, and Gus couldn't help but notice the pained expression flash fleetingly across Shawn's face.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine, Gus,” Shawn replied curtly, snatching the jacket from his desk and pulling it on with some difficulty. Gus gave the other man a skeptical look but followed him as he stalked out of the office, shoulders hunched and hands shoved deeply into his jacket pockets.
TBC...