Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or any of the characters associated with it.

Genre: Hurt/comfort, Suspense(ish)?, some Humor

Rating: T. There is mild violence. Oh, and Shawn cusses. Like once. You have been warned.

I didn't intend slash, but if you just always leave your goggles on; go crazy.

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Carlton Lassiter was the most straight-laced, most by-the-book, narrow-minded cop Shawn had ever met.

If police code had told him to not wash his hands, all sinks in the Lassiter house would have been trashed. If the manual suddenly read underwear was forbidden on Wednesdays, he'd be riding Hump Day out commando. And Shawn was pretty damn sure, if a rule came out about never cutting your hair, then By God, Lassie would show up the next day with a style that would put Tina Turner to shame.

So, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why his prudish friend had just peppered the robber with more rounds than could have possibly been deemed appropriate in the handbook, or why the detective took on the look of a feral, pissed off, wild dog.

What on earth could have set Lassie off like that? Head cocked, Shawn paused to think about it, absently running a hand through his hair, not at all surprised when it left behind a bloody path in its wake. After all, he had pressed it to the bullet hole that was currently centered in the middle of his chest….

Oh. Oh.

That was probably it.

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Hope you had fun with this one; it's a lot more serious than the other Psych drabble I wrote. I don't intend to finish this, but if you guys are just that into it, I'll be sure to think about it.

It'll be a while till the next one, but hold on my dear cupcakes! It is coming!

R&R if you get the chance!