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The Snowdens of Yesteryear (C)

Title:  The Snowdens of Yesteryear
Fandom: Psych
Author: Nnej 
Disclaimer: I totally own them. All of them. You would not believe the asinine things I make them do.
Pairing: Subtle Shassy
Warning: Seriously dark themes. Also, character death.

Rating:  I’d say PG-13/R for dark themes
Word Count:  1934
Summary: It was a tragedy.  A tragedy. A tragedy. People tell you that, but you’re not sure if they’re right. And you’re not sure if their wrong. So you trust them. And it was a tragedy. And deep down, you have to believe you’re sad about it.

A/N: This is a very, very odd story. It started out as simply something fun to pass the time, but before I knew it, it had a life of its own. It also has a lot of Catch-22 references that some people might not get. If you don’t understand something, just tell me and I’ll explain it to you. A lot of the relevance is imbedded in this though. You shouldn’t have a problem. But  I apologize if you do. Also, I have to say that I borrowed this format from a fic I read by  [info]

fujiseesall called “And the Water Runs Red”. It’s really an awesome Harry Potter fic. She's incredible. Bow to her. Also, as always, bow to my betasporkyadrasteia without whom I would be an illiterate shmuck.

"Who is Spain?"

"Why is Hitler?"

"When is right?"

“Where was that stooped and mealy-colored old man I used to call Poppa when the merry-go-round broke down?"

"How was trump at Munich?"

"Ho-ho beriberi." and

"Balls!" all rang out in rapid succession, and then there was Yossarian with the question that had no answer:

"Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?"

The question upset them, because Snowden had been killed over Avignon...



you wonder why so much happens at once and why things never, never leave your mind. you sit and wonder and remember and it never ends. so you bang your head against the wall. and at long last silence rings in your ears.


            a dark skinned man used to visit you a lot. now he only comes once in awhile. you heard him saying that he can't stand to see you like this. now he doesn't see you at all.


            the doctors like to leave you alone. and when you're alone, you think. you think of a television show. timmy and his well. the black and white dog that saved him.


            you look closely at the dog's black and white eyes. at the black-and-white blue.


            old man comes and sits with you for hours, watching you and calling you 'shawn'. he wants you to snap out of it. and you want to ask why, but  the blue-eyed dog on the TV took your voice with him down the well. and you let him take it. you know he needs it more than you do because in the well, silence rings in his ears. your voice keeps him company. and you don't know why, but as long as blue-eyed dog has it, everything is alright.


            when you bang your head on the wall, you count to 34. the memories in your head remind you that it took the blue-eyed dog 34 seconds to disappear. you know that 35 is supposed to come next, but it doesn't. so you stop at 32, 33, 34.


            you can't remember what you can't forget so it stays in your head. you can't remember, so it haunts you. and sometimes, you see bright blue eyes, right before they turn red. and you can't forget. and you can't forget. and you can't remember to forget.


            the newspapers talk about the santa barbara serial killer. they talk about The Incident and the policemen that got killed. 'Five men were injured including Detective Carlton Lassiter from the SBPD, who selflessly sacrificed himself for a nearby bystander.’ you can't fathom how, but you know beyond any doubt that the bystander wasn't worth it.


            the doctors wrap your head in gauze before fastening on a helmet. but banging a helmet on the wall doesn't stop the memories. when you finally get it off, the gauze is bright red. and you want the silence. so you bangbangbangbang and the silence doesn't rings so much as it throbs.


            you listen to the throbbing and to the silence and to the memories that never stop. and it all seems to ask, "where are the snowdens of yesteryear?"


            old man blames himself. he talks about how he made shawn remember and remember and remember so that when something came along that he needed to forget, his brain. forgot. how.


            blonde-hair comes and sits with you today and brings you some pineapple chunks, which aren't allowed, but you wont tell her that. she talks as if she's your friend and you listen because she seems so honest. no. you listen because she seems so hurt. she tells you about dark skin and old man. and she tries to smile, but after awhile, the tears fall; "Lassiter didn't sacrifice himself so you could waste away here". you wonder what lassiter did sacrifice himself for. and how she knows, and not you. and if you ever knew lassiter. and if he had blue eyes like the dog on tv.


            the doctors say many things about you. conversion disorder, dissociation, perseverance, survival guilt. the only doctor that doesn't say things about you is the one that watches you most closely. he simply nods at the others and stares at you and says, "you won't find this in a text book".


            when the banging doesn't make things silent, you're forced to listen to the memories. they try to tell you that blue-eyed dog wasn't a dog. that he was a man. that you loved him. that he didn't sacrifice himself so you could waste away here.


            they also let you know about 34. it was how old you were last year. how many seconds someone-you-can't-remember's heart lasted after it was shot. and it was the very last page that the blue-eyed dog and you read from catch-22. and it was the very last page that the blue-eyed dog and you read. and it was the very last page. it was the very last page. the very last page. the very last.


            your doctor puts you under hypnosis to get you to talk. when its over, he plays back what you said, but it doesn't sound like you. it's not you. no. it's a man named shawn talking and crying on the tape. he knew lassiter. he was there when lassiter died. if you could talk to him, you'd ask him the question. the Question With No Answer. "where are the snowdens of yesteryear?"



            you finally took things too far. that’s what the doctors said as they strap you into your helmet once again. the tile in the bathroom is cracked and red. but your head is silent. and that’s what counts.



the nurses have to keep you awake tonight. they say you have a concussion and if you fall asleep, you won’t wake up. they bring in tapes of lassie for you to watch, but you want the real thing. you want to go down the well. you want so desperately to sleep and not. wake. up. alone.



dark skin comes back today and brings a box. its sealed and heavy and full of blue-eyed dog’s things. dark skin wants you to open it, but you can’t. not until blue-eyed dog comes out of the well. or until you go in.


                shawn gets you in trouble. on the tape, he kept yelling. now a nurse has to stay with you at all times and you aren’t allowed into the bathroom or kitchen. you think you hate shawn. you can’t remember why, but you feel it. and you know. if it weren’t for him, blue-eyed dog would still be here. and then you could count to 35.


                you like to watch other people in the hospital. they are all so interesting. and you have to wonder why they’re here. some are obvious. some are crazy. but some just seem to be sad. or angry. or just so very happy. and they all are scared. of you.


                you wake up screaming and you don’t know why. and you’re not making a sound. and it is just screaming, but you have no voice. so you scream louder. but. no. one. hears.


                the man who sits next to you on the couch steals your pills. that makes him a bad man. only bad men steal. only bad men steal. only bad men steal pills and purses and lives. you want the man punished. but blue-eyed dog is gone. so you let him take your pills and you stay up all night remembering.


                they find you one morning in the kitchen, writing on the walls with split-open red palms. for hours afterwards they ask you what 34 means. and why you wrote it so many times. and who is snowden. and you rock in your seat, counting and counting and counting and 32. 33. 34. 1. 2…




you aren’t fit to be on the first floor. that’s what the doctors say. so you’re moved upstairs. people up there are more like you. your roommate thinks he is napoleon. and you never knew napoleon. so he may be right.




no one steals your pills up here, so you are forced to take them. the doctors smile and say you’re making progress. you think you’re becoming shawn. and you don’t like shawn. and you don’t want to be shawn. and you don’t want the pills. but the walls are soft. and you have to take them. you have to take them to make the silence come. so you take the pills and cry.



Man was matter, that was Snowden's secret. Drop him out the window and he'll fall. Set fire to him and he'll burn. Bury him and he'll rot like other kinds of garbage. The spirit gone, man is garbage. That was Snowden's secret. Ripeness was all.




   dark skin comes around more, now that shawn is coming back. he smiles and jokes with him and shawn smiles and jokes back and you wait till the night. when shawn is asleep, you flush his pills. and then you sit on the floor and watch the tv and the blue-eyed dog. and you smash your head against the padded wall, which doesn’t bring the silence, but you think it keeps you sane.




with the pills, you remember differently. you remember blue-eyed dog as a man. his lips on your lips. his arm on your waist. his hand in your hair and his voice in your ear. reading page 34. asking ‘where are the snowdens of yesteryear?’



you’re fighting a loosing battle against shawn. you flush the pills, he gets more. and everyone is happy. except you. but you have no voice whereas shawn’s fills the room. so you sit in silence, banging your head against nothing. and you feel so empty. feel so empty. so empty. full of empty.


                you only come out at night now. when shawn is sitting up late at night and lets his mind wander. the dead detective haunts him and he feels like a traitor. you don’t think you knew the dead detective, but you hate shawn. so you tell him he’s right.




                shawn doesn’t take his pills anymore. he can’t think with you lurking behind his eyelids all the time. so he lets you take over. and that would make you happy. but this isn’t a victory. it’s a nothing. it’s an absence of shawn. and shawn was just noise. so you figure it’s silence.




                 no one comes around anymore. having and losing shawn makes them lose interest in you. but it’s alright. it’s alright. you swear it’s alright because you don’t know why you wanted them around in the first place.



the santa barbara serial killer was captured. your doctor shows you the article. he asks how that makes you feel. and you look at him and at the article and at the picture of Carlton Lassiter and... 32, 33, 34…




            where are the snowdens of yesteryear?


( 49 comments — Leave a comment )
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Apr. 3rd, 2007 04:21 am (UTC)
interesting. and heartbreaking. and fascinating.

Apr. 3rd, 2007 04:29 am (UTC)
Three words:

I LOVED this.

Apr. 3rd, 2007 05:34 am (UTC)
Ouch. That was just lovely and so angsty.
Apr. 3rd, 2007 12:12 pm (UTC)
I think my heart just broke a little bit.
This was amazing and perfect and I adored it.
Great job ♥
Apr. 3rd, 2007 12:17 pm (UTC)
Holy hell, this was awesome!! I think the bits I love the most were the Catch-22 phrases. I love that book (and Closing Time)!

The case against Clevinger was open and shut. The only thing missing was something to charge him with. - My fav line from the book.
Apr. 3rd, 2007 04:41 pm (UTC)
I <3 you, forever more


My favorite line is: "Who's they?" he wanted to know. "Who, specifically, do you think is trying to murder you?"

"Every one of them," Yossarian told him.

"Everyone of whom?"

"Everyone of whom do you think?"

"I haven't any idea."

"Then how do you know they aren't?"
(no subject) - hctib_notsob - Apr. 3rd, 2007 09:54 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - usataro - Apr. 3rd, 2007 11:09 pm (UTC) - Expand
Apr. 3rd, 2007 03:47 pm (UTC)
I think I'm going to go curl up in a corner now.
Apr. 3rd, 2007 05:48 pm (UTC)
I don't think I'll manage to tell you how *wonderful* this is. I started crying half-way through; it's poignant, beautiful and so, so perfect.
Apr. 3rd, 2007 08:39 pm (UTC)
Jesus Christ. This is. . .just. Agh. Frightening, really. In a really amazing way, like it stays with you after you finish reading it.
Apr. 4th, 2007 12:58 am (UTC)
I'm so glad you liked this ^_^

And, btw... you're watching me! YOU'RE THE FIRST PERSON TO WATCH THIS COMMUNITY THAT I DON'T KNOW FROM RL! -Glomp of doom!-
(no subject) - hahahahowlucky - Apr. 4th, 2007 03:19 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - usataro - Apr. 4th, 2007 08:05 pm (UTC) - Expand
Apr. 3rd, 2007 10:24 pm (UTC)
Wow. So. Dang. Sad.

Great job... *runs for tissues*
Apr. 5th, 2007 11:24 pm (UTC)
Wow. I am totally going to stalk you now. Because crazyfic? Fills me with glee. homg. I love you so much you have no idea. There's very little good crazyfic out there, and you just rocketed to the top of the mountain. Hill. Small mound of fic. Whatever.
Apr. 5th, 2007 11:30 pm (UTC)
Also, did I forget to mention the Catch-22 love? Because it's there. In epic proportions. homg.
Apr. 22nd, 2007 03:55 am (UTC)
Wonderful and scary and...

I loved it, but I can't let the night end on such a sad note. So I'm gonna go read something insanely fluffy, maybe.

But seriously. I LOVE this. It makes my heart ache.

Also, I must now read Catch-22.
Jul. 23rd, 2007 05:44 am (UTC)
though it's generally one of the most set-in-stone rules of fandom --Thou Shalt Comment On Fics Thoust Likes -- i break it flagrantly. just sort of a preamble to the real meat of this comment, that being: i HAVE to comment on this one, because i've been coming back to reread it over the past month, time and time again, because i like it just so very much.

seriously, i love me some psych fandom and i like me some shassi, and so i pay dearly, because with such a slap-happy and cheerful show, i'm pretty much denied my very favorite of fanfics. except for this one, which is not only a masterful dark fic for a lighthearted show, but also just a masterful fic in of itself.

big ups, all around! srsly, i <3 this fic.
Aug. 11th, 2007 07:03 pm (UTC)
^__________^ -Blushes bright red-

I'm so glad you enjoyed! It's one of the best things ever to have someone review a story you posted awhile ago. I'm so glad you stumbled onto it ^_^
Aug. 6th, 2007 07:44 pm (UTC)
I never comment on livejournal fics (mainly because I have no livejournal account). But then again, I never read fics twice in the same week and still feel it cut as deeply as this does either. I didn't really like Catch-22 very much when I read it, yet all the refrences worked perfectly for this fic. I think this fic will stay with me for a long while.
Jan. 26th, 2008 01:45 am (UTC)
awww my heart just broke a little
that was...adorable angst
Apr. 5th, 2008 11:45 am (UTC)
I love insane!Shawn fics. This one broke my heart so much <3
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( 49 comments — Leave a comment )