Forget Me Not

Prologue

A/N: For those of you who are avid readers of psycfic, this has already been posted on --I'm just re-posting here on to allow a wider audience access (and to shamelessly promote the wonders of ). Clearly I highly recommend going there. Since the entire story is complete, I'll just update every evening for those that are interested. Lots of love ~Ocean Born Mary

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING....*sobs hysterically* I don't even own the ability to infringe on USA Network and the creators of Psych...

This last argument had most certainly taken the cake. Shawn could clearly remember the last time he had been this angry with his father, and it had involved a night in a cell over stolen keys and a girl. And it had later involved the very thing that Shawn was doing now—running away on a motorcycle that his father despised. For the past four hours the fake psychic had been driving non-stop, except for a quick gas run, taking whichever road that would get him away the fastest. For someone who was supposed to be psychic, Shawn had to admit that he should have seen this coming. The way his dad would show up to make sure he had back-up, and would call, in the middle of a case, and have him come over…the way he had tried to have the department psychologist intervene…but he never did realize, that deep down, his father was truly worried about his safety.

It had escalated this past afternoon, when his father got a call from the Chief, saying that he was being held hostage by the suspect, having gone in when no one believed his psychic throes. And Shawn had to admit that his dad was right…none of this would have happened if Shawn had a badge and a gun. Shawn would have been able to draw a gun, legally, in response. And in hindsight, it was really rather stupid of him to throw his phone out and pitch his wallet in the trash, taking only the wad of cash from under the sink…his dad meant well…usually.

Pulling over to the shoulder, Shawn took a deep breath and lifted off his helmet, scrubbing at his face. "Stupid," he muttered. That was what he was. He'd blown a fuse and run…something he'd promised himself he'd never do again. He couldn't run out on his dad. Not like his mom had run out on them…he didn't want to lose his dad too. No. He had to fix this. For once he'd admit that he was wrong, and apologize. Just this once. But there was no way in hell that he was building another dog house. Shoving his helmet on with a little more force than necessary, Shawn made an illegal u-turn and headed home.

Yet, characteristic of his life, another event occurred that Shawn should have seen coming. Just as he began contemplating whether or not buying his dad a new whisk on the way home would save his sorry hide, his gas meter dropped below empty and the bike's engine began sputtering ominously. Swearing under his breath, Shawn brought the bike to a puttering stop on the side of the road, jaw clenching as the first drop of rain made its unwelcome way down the back of his neck. He had no cell phone. It was pitch black outside. He was in the middle of nowhere…and of course, it had to start raining. Shoving his bike behind some bushes, and hoping he'd be able to get back to it eventually (maybe after some hard core pleading with his dad), Shawn grabbed his backpack and began meandering his way down the road, hopefully towards civilization and a pay phone…where he'd call collect.

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer…" Walking sucked. Within five minutes he was soaked. And miserable…and it really didn't help that the only thing he had to look forward to was another lecture from his father…and one from Gus…and then their combined "disappointed" faces…the thought was enough to nearly make him turn and walk in the opposite direction, maybe even head back to Mexico. Shawn was on his 66.67th bottle of beer, and was just about to take it down and pass it around when he saw his salvation…headlights.

"Hey, HEY!!!" Diving into the middle of the road, Shawn began jumping and waving his arms around like a maniac, calculating how fast he'd have to move if the car didn't slow down. Thankfully, the car slowed, and then pulled to the side of the road, and Shawn scrambled over, hoping this meant that his fortune was changing and soon he'd be on his way to Santa Barbara… "Dude, thanks so much for stopping, you have no idea how bad…hey…"

Shawn had seen a piece enough to recognize what it looked like, and had fired one enough to recognize the Glock even in the shadowy confines of the beat up red Chevy. Backing up slowly, and realizing there was really no where for him to either run or hide, he held his palms out in what he hoped was an appeasing manner. "I'll…just go…"

The door jerked open to reveal a goliath of a man, and Shawn couldn't help but vaguely wonder if he hadn't been an ogre in another life. In the dark, Shawn wasn't able to discern his features, but by the smell, he was certain the guy hadn't bathed in awhile. The headlights glittered off the gun, and caught gold capped teeth, from this angle the license plate number seared itself to his brain, as did the out-of-state plates, before he was distracted. "Put the bookbag down!"

"Okay, just take it easy…" As he eased the straps off his shoulders, Shawn realized that this was probably the reason that hitchhiking had been made illegal. No wonder his dad had been so adamant when he was a kid about this stuff. Shawn decided rather quickly that his dad had no reason to know that he was right, and that this little incident would be a well kept secret between him and the guy with the gun, more fondly known as Bigfoot.

"Against the car!"

Easing around the gun, he caught another whiff of the guy, and realized the sickly smell wasn't body odor, but crystal meth, reminding him of another situation that his dad was to never know about…at least that had happened in Mexico. Shawn put himself against the car, Cops style, and was starting to wish he'd tried to convince the Chief to let him get a license to carry concealed, when he felt the guy start patting him down. "Hey!"

"Where's your wallet?"

Okay, it had been a really, really bad decision on his part to throw away both cell phone and wallet.

"Umm…I kinda threw it away."

He could hear the contents of his backpack being dumped, and heard the whistle of appreciation when the wad of cash hit the ground.

"Look, you can have the money…"

He felt the sudden blow against his head, pain exploding behind his eyes, and started crumpling to the ground, hitting his head a second time off the corner of the driver's door, a door that Bigfoot had never closed. His vision began closing in on itself as his mind clouded, and as the pavement moved up to meet his face, Shawn vaguely hoped that his father never got wind of this incident, because he certainly wasn't going to live it down…

A/N: Reviews are appreciated--flames will be ridiculed and then used to heat my house (which is currently at a robust 58 Degrees--Farenheit, not Celcius).