A/N: A response to dragonnan's character fantasy of Hyperthermia over on psychfic.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Was there a particular reason for Gus to have turned off the air conditioning in the Psych office? He was fairly certain that he had not done it this time. He had learned from the previous time that the joke came back to bite him in the ass when it affected him as much as Gus.

That aside, he still found it incredibly hot. The next thing he noticed was that he was actually lying down and his eyes were closed. Why was he sleeping? The last he remembered he had been entering the office, very early as well as he had been too restless about the case they were working to get any actual sleep anyway. Had he fallen asleep in the office? He didn't think he had, and if that was the case he must have hit the floor rather than the couch because it was not exactly soft where he was lying. On the other hand, the floor in the office was not supposed to be a little lumpy. Maybe he had knocked something over and fallen asleep on top of it.

Shawn blearily tried to open his eyes but quickly shut them again with a groan. Definitely not the Psych office unless they had suddenly lost the right to have a ceiling. He lazily rolled onto his side and attempted to push himself onto a sitting position which was more or less successful. It took a moment for the sudden spinning in his head to stop, but when it did he again braved to open his eyes.

This was so not good.

Sand.

Everywhere he looked there was just sand. It was like he had just become a single sand corn in a sandbox.

First things first: don't panic.

Shawn took a deep breath before squinting up at the sun bearing down at him. From what he had gathered from camping with his dad, the position of the sun told him it had to be around eleven in the morning.

Repeat: don't panic.

He looked down at himself and noted the jacket he had had on that morning – at least he hoped it was that morning – was no longer with him. Not that he thought he needed it in this heat. He was temporarily grateful for the jeans and t-shirt he was still wearing, though, he realised, that would hardly help against the heat.

His head still felt a little weird and he carefully raised his right hand to prod gently around his skull, looking to see if there were any lumps. He wasn't sure if he should be grateful when he found none. He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes in an effort to still his slightly wavering sight. He sniffed loudly as he brought his hands away again.

The sand beneath the bare skin of his hands was burning hot and it would have been fine had he been on the beach with the knowledge of the ocean and shade nearby, but this was more than a little disconcerting.

It was with a great deal of effort that he forced his body to co-operate long enough for him to try and get his feet beneath himself. His feet were bare, but he was not quite sure why his sneakers were gone. Those had been good sneakers too. They hadn't even been that old. He had bought them – well, Gus had bought them – about two months ago. Why was he even having an internal rambling about his shoes?

Standing proved a bad idea and he soon found himself sitting back down as the world tried to right itself again. Okay, maybe slowly was the key to getting up. Shawn very carefully pushed himself first to his knees and waited for the latest bout of vertigo to settle before standing the rest of the way up. He pressed his hand hard against his forehead as he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the world to please stop spinning.

He breathed out a shaky sigh of relief when he was still standing the next time he opened his eyes. So far so good. The next question was a little more troubling.

Where the heck was he?

He had no doubt that his latest trip in the desert had to do with the current case he was working on. This did not make him feel any better as, the last time he checked, the cops had no idea of the who, where, why or even what, though they were fairly certain that the Sandman was not behind the murders. He could only hope he was still in the Santa Barbara area, but that did not help him much as he had no idea of whether the city was north, south, east or west. In the end he decided on walking south in the hope that maybe if he just kept walking down on the map he would hit a place that was at least somewhat familiar.

Another little maybe important factor that he had just noticed was that his captor had neglected to give him a bottle of water. Shawn huffed. That guy certainly wasn't about to go for a Michelin Star.

It was with a deep breath and great willpower that Shawn took a step forward and started heading towards what he hoped was the south, though he wasn't sure if he actually had any idea.

The sand burned with a tingly sensation against the soles of his feet as he shuffled forward, wiping off a few beads of sweat from his forehead. It hurt to keep his eyes open all the way, so he kept them half-lidded, having them open just enough to watch his own feet as he put one in front of the other at a slow and agonizing pace. Shawn wondered briefly what he was actually doing but he supposed it was better to do something than nothing.

It wasn't long before beads of sweat were an understatement to describe how it felt as sweat ran down his back and chest. It was more of a cascading waterfall, and not the good kind like the Chief's chair. No, this felt absolutely terrible. He coughed dryly as he pushed matted hair away from his forehead, feeling his hand coated with sweat as he brought it back down. This officially sucked.

He could hear a strange humming in his ear which seemed to be the only sound occupying the vacuum he was currently wading through. He shook his head in an attempt to get rid of the sound but instead nearly toppled down onto the sand again.

Okay, bad idea to shake head. Duly noted.

Shawn raised his head to peer off into the distance and stopped dead in his tracks.

Why was there a pineapple with a giant bow attached to it sitting roughly thirty metres in front of him in the sand?

Tilting his head to the side in curiosity, Shawn shuffled towards the fruit a little quicker than before.

He blinked.

Where did the pineapple go?

Shawn stopped with a whimper and looked around as if hoping to see the pineapple again. He wasn't an idiot but he seriously hoped that the fruit had not merely been a fragment of his imagination. It just wasn't anywhere in sight. He decided to walk a little further and maybe be on the lookout for it.

He had no idea how much time had passed but it was getting even harder to keep his eyes open as he trudged through the sand. A few minutes earlier when he had made a move to run a hand across his forehead again he had been rather alarmed to find that he was sweating a lot less now than before. Wasn't the body supposed to sweat when you got this hot? He had put the thought aside though and kept walking, annoyed at the shaky feeling in his legs.

"Hello?" Shawn whispered hoarsely and tentatively as he looked to the side and down to the ground. "Who're you?"

His shadow did not answer which Shawn found rather rude but when he made a move towards it, it in return moved away from him.

Hmm, maybe a different tactic was in need.

"We're in a desert," okay maybe he shouldn't have sounded quite so high if he was trying to console his companion into the belief and understanding that he was not threatening.

So I've noticed.

Wow, he totally had not expected a response, much less a response with a voice that sounded so much like is own.

"Do you come here often?" Shawn asked, currently forgetting completely about his previous plan to walk.

No.

Shouldn't his shadow be slightly more talkative than that? Shawn sighed, finding even the air stiflingly hot as it ran past his dry lips.

He started walking again, though he tried to keep an eye on his shadow at the same time as being on the lookout for the runaway pineapple.

It was some time later that he finally collapsed. He was unsure of how long he lay there but when he was slightly more coherent again he promptly rolled to his side just in time to expel whatever may have been left in stomach from his breakfast that morning. He felt as if he had just run a marathon when he rolled back onto his back, closing his eyes against the blazing sun.

He groaned as he tried to push himself back on his feet. He was stubborn and unwilling to simply lay there to roast in the sun. He could just as well walk and get roasted at the same time. That would actually be multitasking.

He legs gave way under him twice before he was finally able to steady them underneath him. His heart was beating harshly in his chest and the warm air made it torture to try and draw the deep breaths that he so desperately needed. He wavered slightly as he forced himself to keep walking, the dizziness that had returned full force was definitely not helping his efforts.

He tried to cough in an effort to rid his lungs of the hot air and sand that felt as if it had sneaked into his mouth, but it was to no avail. His shadow had been suspiciously quiet after his collapse, but one slightly more coherent thought told him that was probably a good thing.

His tongue slipped out between his lips as he attempted to rid them of their dried out feeling, but even his tongue felt dry, giving his lips no relief. He had no idea where he was even walking anymore only that was what he'd decided to do meaning that was what he was going to do. He looked hazily to the side. Hey, was that the pine–?

The sun was still glaring down at him when he opened his eyes again. That was so not cool. Later he would probably deny the term 'fainting', but he found that he didn't care what it would or should be called only that he did not care much for it. Before his heart had been racing like a colt at the Kentucky Speed Stakes, but now it seemed to had slowed considerably, no longer hammering against his chest. It was still relatively hard to draw a breath in the hot air, but what bothered him the most was the way his head was swimming to the degree that he wasn't sure he even wanted to get up.

That though was enough to send him rolling to his side and start crawling his way into a standing position. He got to his hands and knees before he collapsed again, face first straight back into the sand. Ugh…sand really did not taste very nice and certainly did not mix well with an already way too dry mouth. He coughed dryly again as pushed himself up again, keeping his eyes closed in order to conserve the energy to actually get up. He had lost the meaning behind getting up and walking but something inside of him told him that if he wanted to survive he had to get up. At the moment that seemed like a really cruel idea.

He decided that crawling ahead on his hands and knees would justify as walking for a while as it simply took too much energy to get to his feet. The sand ran over his fingers in rivulets as his hands dug deep and pushed him forwards. His clothes clung to him uncomfortably with a mixture of dried sweat and sand. His mouth was permanently open in an attempt to catch any cool air that might come his way. So far he had found none.

He could feel his arms getting tired before he collapsed again, so he avoided a face-plant in the sand this time as he allowed his body to fall to the side just in time. He felt sick again, but would really prefer not to throw up again. It had done nothing for his wellbeing so he was pretty sure a repeat would not offer any different results. He breathed in the warm air deeply, feeling his lungs burning along with the rest of him in response.

He felt so tired, lying in the burning sand underneath the merciless sun. He would allow his body to rest, if only for a few minutes.

Backtrack, hang on a second. He opened his eyes again, unaware that he had actually allowed them to close. Was that a person over there in the distance? He looked to have a slightly hazy outline but that was probably not his fault, so Shawn wouldn't judge him for it.

He forced his legs under him again and toppled towards where he had seen the figure.

"Hey," it was meant to be a shout but it came out as nothing more than a strained whisper.

He swore he could still see someone standing there, and though he was unsure why, he felt it was more important than anything to get to that other person.

He lost him. Just as with the pineapple he had lost track of where the person had gone. This was so unfair that had he had the energy he would have actually been angry, and maybe a little bit upset. Scratch that, he was already upset, but he had told himself earlier not to panic, but quite frankly as he did not have the energy to be angry, he most certainly did not have the energy to panic.

OW!

He fell hard that time. His feet tangling in each other as he had tried to move faster than his body was capable at the given time. He was lying on his back again, trying hard to breathe deeply, but finding his lungs incapable of keeping up.

Why was he here again?

Shawn Spencer was able to remember anything, but right now he had no idea what he was doing here. He couldn't for the life of him puzzle together how he had come here. The sand was still burning and the sun was still blazing when he finally gave up his fight against his body's plea for rest.

He could feel hands on his body.

He could ear muffled voices but he had no idea what they were saying.

He tried to push the hands away from him and to tell the voices to leave him alone, but he must have been unsuccessful because the hands were still on him and he was still vaguely aware of people talking.

"…be okay…fine…Shawn…" the words drifted through his muddled brain as he again tried to push the hands off him but in the end he gave up, instead trying to formulate in words that he wanted them to leave him alone.

"…get…off…" he murmured, rather proud of himself for being able to say that much that actually sounded coherent. Well, it probably sounded a lot more coherent to him than it did to anyone else.

"You're going to be fine, Spencer, the ambulance is here."

Hang on. That was a lot clearer than anything he had heard before and he knew that voice…from somewhere.

He tried to open his eyes again, but gave up after a few attempts, instead grabbing slightly with his hands, desperate to feel something other than sand. His fingers found something that his brain registered as feeling slightly like cotton, but he couldn't be sure and he didn't care. He wrapped his hand as tightly around the material as he was able, which was not very tight at all, but at least there was a different sensation than sand against his fingers and hand.

"Spencer, you'll be…" the voice died off, but Shawn didn't care, not until the voice continued sounding slightly less sympathetic than before, "Spencer, let go off my jacket."

Over his dead body.

There you have it! As always feedback is greatly appreciated!

I was wondering whether or not to end it there, so let me know if you want this to be a two-shot rather than a one-shot.

Another thing; I know absolutely nothing about the deserts that I read was close to Santa Barbara, so just go with it. ;-)