Initially inspired by Lu who demanded blood.

*waits for the shock to pass*

Finally posted 'cause Drag needed something to help her cope with a sucky, sucky day.

Mostly unbetaed? Lu flailed over it, but that's as good as it gets.

Disclaimer: Seriously, if I owned these boys Supernatural would have more comedy and Psych would have more drama (whump) and I'm pretty sure I'd actually just do a spinoff where they all join forces, dress up as musketeers, and make a very special pact. :D

... MUSKETEERS... ZOMJ! *dies*

*cough* Anyway.

This is the first of... three or four parts? We'll have to see how it all sorts out. :D

There is a fine art to entertaining yourself in a roomful of things that don't interest you.

Shawn had already checked the TV listings. Nothing was on. And he'd accidentally spilled some pineapple juice on the Tivo during a particularly exciting episode of Numb3rs, so he couldn't even watch anything good in rerun.

Sure, he could have looked for something crime-ish in the newspaper that he could go down to the station and horn in on, but he wasn't sure Lassie had quite forgiven him for that whole mess with the paperwork and the chihuahua.

And it was a Tuesday. Tuesdays were notoriously slow, both here and there, for some reason.

Gus had taken his computer with him, and Shawn's was being looked at by the Nerd Herd guys in hopes that whatever virus he'd accidentally downloaded could be obliterated.

Which still left a whole host of things to do. None of which interested him.

Except for the pencil he'd found under the fridge.

He didn't even know where it came from since it was neon pink and half worn down, the eraser chewed off. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, he'd become obsessed with balancing it on his nose. He was getting damn good at it too.

His current record was six and a half seconds. Well, six and three quarters. Which was really like seven, so he decided to round up. Seven seconds was the time to beat. He was up to four on this current round.

He'd found that breathing really interfered with the process so he was trying not to. The plan was working excellently and he counted off the 'six' in his head when the sneeze hit.

Dammit.

And now he didn't know where the pencil had gone. He debated finding another toy, but he really did want to beat the seven second record. Really, eight seconds wasn't THAT long.

So with a sigh he stood and rounded his desk. It had flown off in the general direction of Gus' half of the office—a line currently being marked by a strip of tape after a heated discussion over clutter. Which wasn't fair. It's not like Shawn was deliberately trying to take over the whole room. Shawn still thought they had brownies or leprechauns or something.

Oooh. Brownies sounded good. He'd have to go get some when he went out for lunch.

Spotting a hint of neon pink under Gus' chair, Shawn moved to retrieve the pencil. Except, it wasn't the pencil. Just the eraser.

Gross. Someone had chewed the eraser off and spit it out? Seriously? Who did that?

Hoping it was under the desk, Shawn crawled into the knee-well and hunched over.

Ahhh, sweet victory.

Now he just had to reach— DAMMIT!

Ow.

Owowowowow.

He rubbed his head and glared at the desk corner that had dared to get in his way.

A sound at the back door had him sitting up and banging his head on the center drawer too, eliciting another curse. If Gus caught him down here he was screwed. He'd never be able to explain it without sounding guilty. The fact that he was guilty was irrelevant.

He backed out, but stayed on his hands and knees, hoping to be able to make it back to his side of the line before Gus saw him. He just needed to know which direction to go, left or right...

He heard footsteps to the left and darted right. Which might have worked, except for the part where there were two people, the second being very light on their feet indeed.

"What the fuck?"

Shawn's collar was grabbed and yanked, making him choke as he was hauled to his feet. The momentum was carried through until his back slammed into Gus' desktop. He found himself looking up into the unshaven face of a young man with hard blue eyes.

"Shit, Marcus, no one was supposed to be in here!" His partner, a sandy haired teenager with brown eyes and a lot less confidence, watched from where he stood next to the TV.

"I know," Marcus said, then spared a look for his friend. "And don't use my name, Dumbass."

"Sorry," the kid muttered and went back to fiddling with the cords behind the TV. He was either going to hook Shawn up with free cable—a waste since they already had DirecTV—or stealing the flat screen.

Oh hey, look. A crime had come to Shawn. Fantastic.

"Uh, guys?" he said.

Shawn's shirtfront was grabbed by the thug looming over him and he was lifted up slightly and then slammed back down.

OW.

"Shut up," Marcus ordered.

"Okay. Constructive criticism not welcomed. Got it."

The handholds were again used, though instead of going right back down he was lifted up and spun around, Marcus releasing him just in time to send him flying toward the chairs and the window.

Which, you know, weren't as comfortable when you hit them after flying seven feet through the air.

Again, ow.

Shawn struggled to his feet, hoping to make it to the front door. He'd let Lassie and Jules worry about stopping these guys. He just wanted out of here before he broke something, either internally or externally.

Unfortunately, Marcus had other ideas.

Shawn was caught just inside the door to the front room by a flying tackle around the waist that took him to the ground. His face hit the ground and he both heard and felt the crack as his nose made contact. It was immediately followed by a warm rush from his eyes and nostrils both. Lovely. Now his nose was broken.

Okay, he was officially pissed.

He got his hands underneath himself as Marcus tried to crawl up his body and, using a maneuver Dean had shown him, twisted his legs with Marcus'. He shoved away with his hands and flipped them over, landing on top of Marcus and smashing the thug's head into the ground. It stunned the other man enough that when Shawn kept rolling, Marcus didn't immediately follow.

"Mar— Uh, Dude, you okay?" his partner called.

Marcus blindly reached out and found Shawn's shirt before he could get fully away. He glared at Shawn as he yanked him back down.

"Keep going!" he ordered, spittle flying at Shawn and making him flinch away. Then again, he was bleeding on the guy, so he definitely got the better half of the deal.

Shawn was thrown off balance by being pulled down and didn't have any room to swing his fist. He tried to push up, but that put him at a disadvantage which Marcus seized upon with his own right hook It lacked power because of his limited space, but still managed to make Shawn's ear ring and stars explode briefly before his eyes.

Marcus got a knee under his chest and kicked out, sending Shawn flying up and over into the coffee table Gus had insisted they put in the front room. Shawn smashed into it, his ribs screaming in protest as they lost the right of way to the much more sturdy metal frame. They both toppled to the side, and Shawn decided that they were getting rid of the damn table.

He thought it was ugly anyway.

Marcus regained his feet and took a step toward him. Shawn tried to scramble backwards, but the glossy magazines Gus kept for their waiting clients—as if they ever had enough people to make anyone wait—slipped and slid and generally made it impossible for him to move before Marcus reached him, grabbing his shirt again and hauling him up.

Shawn instinctively grabbed his attacker's wrist and said, "No! Wait—" but a rabbit punch to the face cut off his words. A fresh fountain of blood streamed from his nose along with more tears.

In the momentary disorientation, he was dragged back, his feet trying and failing to find any purchase on the ground and then he was slammed up against the wall. He couldn't help the groan as his ribs filed a grievance against this repeated abuse.

Over Marcus' shoulder, Shawn could see the bright sunny day outside, the ocean winking and glinting in the sunlight. Why did no one ever come in when he needed them to? They didn't even have to come in. Looking through the window would suffice, as long as it got them to call 911.

There was a soft snick sound and Shawn's attention was forcibly dragged back inside. He looked down to see a switchblade in Marcus' hand that wasn't pinning him to the wall.

"Oh, hey, really. Come on now. Let's not be hasty, here," Shawn said, bringing his hands up.

"Shut up," Marcus snarled.

"Seriously, I'm not going to stop you from stealing my stuff, okay? I was just trying to get out so you guys could work in peace, man."

Marcus snorted. "And go call the cops, you mean."

"Well, okay, maybe. But it's at least ten, fifteen minutes before anyone would be here. You guys have plenty of time."

The knife came up and Shawn's eyes locked on it, almost crossing as it drew closer to his face.

"Shut. Up. Or I'll slit your throat right now."

Shawn's eyes left the knife to find Marcus' as he snorted.

"No, you won't. You're smart enough to know that robbery is one thing. Murder is totally different." Marcus grinned and Shawn swallowed.

"Oh yeah?" Marcus said. "The way I see it, robbery might get me in jail because you'll tell the cops how to find me. Murder though... you won't tell them anything."

"Ah, heh, actually, funny you should mention that—"

"You almost done in there, Ronnie?"

There was no response except more hurried movement.

"RONNIE!"

"Huh?" Ronnie said, peering through the window. He got a pointed look from Marcus and he gestured to himself. "Me?" he asked.

Marcus rolled his eyes. "No, Dipshit, this guy here," he said, jerking his head toward Shawn, then turning to looked at him. "Hey, Ronnie, you almost done?"

Shawn's brows rose, mouth forming an 'o'.

"Oh!" Ronnie said, finally getting it. "Yeah! But it's gonna take two trips."

Marcus nodded and looked back at Shawn. "Fair enough. Start taking the first load out to the truck." Ronnie nodded and disappeared again.

"If I let you live, you gonna rat us out?"

"Uhhhhh," Shawn said, wondering if that was a trick question.

"Yeah, thought so," Marcus said with a smirk. He shut the knife and stuck it back in his pocket.

Shawn felt relief wash over him. He just might get out of this—

The last thing he saw was Marcus' fist headed right for his face.

Next chappie will be later today or tomorrow.

Review, plz&thx.