Hey guys!

It's been way too long since I've written anything Psych, so here's a story for you guys! I'll admit, this is gonna be one of those "Shawn gets hurt and there's no interesting plot connected" stories. Which are still good stories, don't get me wrong haha, but I do prefer taking the time to write a working, thought-out plot. But anyway, here's my take on if Shawn were a hostage in a bank robbery. I'm gonna write this as it comes to me, so I can't promise regular updates.. but hopefully writing this little guy will help me write my other more interesting story ideas ;D

And um.. anyone else psyched for the psych movie? (Please excuse the horrible pun lol)

Well, here goes!

~cosette141

1983

Shawn made it three steps.

Three steps outside his bedroom before Henry was suddenly standing in front of him, his imposing shadow raining over Shawn like the darkness of night. Shawn's hand was still on his doorknob, and he forced a nervous smile on his face as he slowly looked up at Henry's face.

"Hey… Dad," said Shawn, giving his father a toothy smile.

"What are you doing, Shawn?" demanded Henry, hands on his hips. He was still wearing his police uniform, and not that Shawn would ever admit it, it surely made his father seem much more imposing. Shawn swallowed hard.

"Uh," he hesitated, searching for a lie. "I was just… coming downstairs to see if you… needed anything."

Henry's eyes narrowed. "You're grounded, Shawn. I told you that you were staying in your room until you go to school on Monday."

"But Dad!" whined Shawn, pouting stubbornly. "You can't do that!"

"I'm your father," growled Henry. "I can do whatever I want. Now get back into your room and think about what you did."

"I already did think about it, Dad!" said Shawn exasperatedly. "And you were right; it wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done. If I was smarter, then the fire would have been a lot bigger."

"Shawn!" exclaimed Henry, throwing his hands up, making Shawn shrink the littlest bit back into his room. "That is not the point! The point is: you've been grounded and you cannot leave that room!"

"But you can't do that!" said Shawn firmly, standing his ground. "It's illegal-that's like a hodge-podge situation then!"

"It's called a hostage situation, Shawn," muttered Henry, crossing his arms again.

"I've heard it both ways," said Shawn with a shrug. "But you can't keep someone against their will."

"I'm your father," said Henry again, as if that was a good enough reason.

"Still a hodge-podge situation," muttered Shawn stubbornly.

"And you know what?" asked Henry. "Even as a hostage, you have to listen to the crazy guy in charge."

Shawn raised his eyebrow. "And if I don't?"

Henry narrowed his eyes again. "You don't want to find out."

Present Day

Shawn took a breath, then walked through the doors.

He looked around slowly, walking through the doorway, breathing in the crisp, air-conditioned air. It didn't feel very special.

He knew it. Being responsible was boring.

He was walking into the city bank down the street from Psych to deposit the latest Psych check. Gus had given it to him earlier in the week and Shawn had planned on cashing it in quarters and hitting an arcade. So that's what he intended to do as he walked through the chilled room toward the short line by the tellers.

This bank was bigger and more prestigious than the ones that Gus usually went to, making Shawn feel more superior already. The ceilings stood high above him and he heard his own sneakered footsteps echo in the large room. He'd worked in a bank before, but it wasn't anywhere near as fancy as this one was. Or anywhere near as legit or "government sanctioned" as this one was…

Shawn was next in line when he felt it. It was almost like an intuition. For a moment, he even entertained it as a spark of psychicness. But whatever the shift in the atmosphere had been, Shawn suddenly felt the hair on the back of his neck standing up and he was suddenly whipping around, just as a man burst through the doors to the bank.

A man with a gun.

Heart freezing in his chest, Shawn stumbled back a step. He felt the entire bank go silent for half a second as they all stared at the man, and he stared back. But that moment shattered the moment a woman screamed.

And then all hell broke loose.

With a wild growl, the man raised his gun and started firing bullets. Shawn was running immediately, an arm over his head through the chaos of people. He tried for the door, but the man was blocking the only known exit. People hit him roughly on every side in their attempt to avoid the spray of bullets, but the man was firing randomly. The forty or so people left in the bank had filled the air with the echo of pounding footsteps. Shawn was bruised by the people within seconds. Someone jabbed him particularly painfully in the side and Shawn stumbled and fell to his knee, grabbing at the pain in his side.

"Everyone shut the hell up!" roared the man. Shawn grimaced as another person shoved past him, and he slid himself across the floor, underneath a vacant desk, grimacing at the throbbing bruises as he slammed into the underside.

"Shut up!" Shawn heard the man yell, and he heard the silence of people as they stopped running. One set of footsteps-Shawn assumed they were the man's-walked toward the bank. Shawn peered around the corner. Everyone in the bank was on the ground now, staring weary-eyed at the man. His hair was disheveled and his clothes wrinkled and dirty. His gun was still held tight in his hand. He glared at the room. Giving the bank a quick look of his own, Shawn was relieved to see that no one had been killed. He only caught sight of two injured people: a man in his forties was clutching his arm, blood dripping quickly and steadily to the floor. His face was contorted in pain. The other was a girl, her hand around her thigh, tears streaming down her face. She didn't look too much older than nineteen. The other hostages were splitting their wary gazes from the shooter to the injured. Shawn grimaced again, trying to ignore the throbbing in his side and his pounding heart in his chest.

The man jabbed a gun toward a female employee, and almost everyone flinched. "Lock down the bank. Call anyone, I'll shoot you." He turned toward the rest of the bank, and added, "If anyone tries to be a hero, then I will shoot to kill."

Shawn turned back around, his back pressing firmly against the inside of the underside of the desk, completely hidden from view. He counted thirty-two people in the room. Nineteen female, twelve male, including himself. And a young girl and boy who looked like siblings, whose mother was trying to shush them, tears falling down her own face. Three of the hostages were wearing hats, but Shawn shook himself; that wasn't important. He cringed again, wondering just how many hits and shoves he took in the chaos before.

"Alright," said the man roughly, panting now. Shawn's heart beat furiously in his head, and he held his breath, trying to focus. What had his father told him about hostage situations?

"Even as a hostage, you have to listen to the crazy guy in charge." echoed Henry's voice in Shawn's head.

"This is how this is going to go down," the man continued and Shawn tensed. "Everyone, move over there." He must have pointed to somewhere in the bank, because Shawn heard shuffling of people. If the man decided to search the room and he found Shawn hiding, he wouldn't hesitate to kill him. But this was Shawn's only chance. If he could stay hidden, he could have an advantage.

Heart beating even faster, Shawn swallowed hard, feeling the window of time for his decision to stay or go closing. He shut his eyes and stayed put, hoping against hope that the man was too much of an amateur to not do a search.

"I need some leverage," the man continued, his voice quick and rushed. "Okay? I need the police to give me what I want. You are my bargaining chips. And unless I get everything I need, I will kill every last person inside this building. Got it?"

Silence.

Shawn shifted against the desk, the cramped space hurting his throbbing body even more. What was the most confusing was that he was suddenly light headed. His side stung again. He pressed a hand to it firmly and nearly yelped aloud. He clamped his mouth shut and tore his hand away, staring at it with wide eyes.

It was red with blood.

a/n: thanks for reading!