AN: Took a stab at writing a death fic. WARNING- do not read this while listening to depressing music- or at all if you are easily depressed. I did so and I think I've ruined my emotions. Ah well. Hope you enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Psych.

3AM, May 3rd, 2070, Santa Barbara

Shawn blinked awake. He knew.

In all his 93 years, Shawn Spencer, former fake psychic, never knew something so absolutely, so surely, so completely. He didn't have much longer left. Didn't have much longer to live. He was close to death. Close to being done, gone, forever lost to this world. I was… depressing.

He looked at the clock by his bedside. Numbers were just numbers. The 1s became 2s and the 2s became 3s and the 3s became 4s, and so on. And his strength deteriorated, his physical stability went down while the numbers counted up, the clock mocking him, reminding him that his time was almost gone.

He looked to the picture by the clock. Juliet. Just the name made him instantly sad. His wife of many years had passed away only a year before, and Shawn never was completely complete after that. But he knew he had to hold it together- their 2 kids and 5 grandchildren were already sad enough at the loss of their mother and grandmother. They didn't need his all-consuming misery to top their own levels of grieving.

His children. He loved them wholly. One girl and one boy- fraternal twins. Jeremy and Julianna. Jeremy had Juliet's blonde hair and Shawn's hazel eyes. Julianna had Shawn's brown hair and Jules's blue eyes. They split Shawn's gift- Julianna could remember everything she saw and Jeremy could recall everything he heard.

Looking back on his life, he couldn't believe that he ever didn't want a family; that he ever didn't want a wife. Over the years, Juliet had only grown more beautiful and beautiful every day. His favorite sight in the world was to see Juliet holding his children- or grandchildren as the years went by- close. He was even on excellent terms with his dad and mom, who had remarried almost a year after he and Jules's wedding.

Shawn smiled at the many, many memories. But the smile quickly turned to a frown as Shawn snapped back to reality- the reality in which Juliet was dead, having died of old age last year.

The reality in which Gus was dead. Gus. Shawn instantly felt remorse at the all-too-clear memories that were flooding his brain. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault…

But it was, and he knew it all too well. Everyone kept telling him when it happened- 45 years ago- that it wasn't his fault. But it was! It absolutely was! Gus didn't even want to go inside that building, but Shawn had dragged him inside anyways, and Gus had paid the price. It was completely his fault.

Dying of old age-probably the most peaceful way to go.

Not as fortunate as the others, Lassiter had been killed while protecting his family from an escaped convict 42 years ago, Marlowe and 11-year-old Lilly having unfortunately been killed as well. Chief Vick had died of cancer shortly before, her daughter having followed in her footsteps and currently preparing for retirement from Chief of Police.

His dad and mom had also died, both from old age, thankfully. Shawn wasn't sure how exactly he could be thankful about his parents dying, but he was glad they lived long lives and passed peacefully.

Shawn stared at the wall as he thought, the white plaster illuminated by his night light functioning as a projector screen as his mind rolled through years and years of memories. If it was one thing he regretted in his life, it was lying to Juliet. It was putting Gus in danger. It was never understanding his father, distancing himself from his mother. It was never getting to really know the chief, Lassiter, or even Buzz and Woody- the first who was still alive and the second who died of lung cancer- despite knowing their deepest secrets. The one true thing he regretted in his life was honestly many things.

He remembered holding his wife close, holding his kids close, his grandchildren close, his best friend close, his father and mother close, a certain head detective (somewhat) close (even if it was unwillingly on the second party's part). He remembered sharing a laugh with Chief Vick or Buzz McNab. He remembered everything, from the first time he met Juliet till the last time he ever saw Gus, down in Woody's morgue.

He remembered the first time he was put in a cell, by his father. He remembered the other two times he was put in a cell, having shot both Gus and Lassiter's murderers with a fatal bullet- the evidence against him seemingly disappearing into thin air, although there was never a full investigation on where the evidence went or why copies hadn't been made.

As Shawn looked back on his life, he saw a lot of death. But he saw a lot of life too. He saw people willing to die so that others may live. He saw others leaving a legacy after their death, such as in the chief's daughter or his very own children- who had opened up their own private detective agency, although there was no psychic claim to it. He saw people creating life, creating memories, creating dreams, and completing said dreams.

He saw people unwilling to give up even in death. Unwilling to lose those they loved, even if they lost themselves. They were conquerors, even in death. They were leaders, even if none followed them. They were idealists and dreamers, who brought their ideas to life, fought for their ideals, and followed their dreams. And Shawn, Shawn was glad to say he was one of them. He was one of those who tried to make a better world.

So, as Shawn lay there in the last minutes of his life, he was truly alive. He felt love, commitment, joy, excitement, peace, as he went through those memories, and as he was dying, he was living. He was happy. He was happy. And as Shawn's Spencer's eyes slipped shut for the last time, his last coherent thought was…

Life is good.

AN: That was DEPRESSING. Remind me to never write something like that again. Well, hope you enjoyed!