Author's Note: I only own my thoughts associated with Psych, which are, as usual, quite strange. Thank you for indulging them.

Before Shawn cracked open his eyes, somewhere in the remote recesses of his mind, he remembered the sensations before he felt them. He recalled a cold. A biting, damp cold that shouldn't exist inside his body. Inside his head. An ache so deep it penetrated his muscles, his skin, the quick of his nail beds. At the same time a churning in his stomach. Not just nausea, but a roiling so sickening, he felt as though his organs were having an orgy in a cheap hotel room bed with a magic fingers coin slot in an earthquake.

As his eyes began to flutter open, he grasped desperately at the rough concrete with his hands… his stomach suddenly felt as if it were filled with smelting lead. Memories began to return to him in a sickening deluge along with his consciousness and all sensation.

Gasping, still confused and groggy, he stared upward, attempting to find his bearings. Above him was a wooden trellis.

"Gus?" he breathed.

Receiving no reply, Shawn's heart, already beating faster than he thought possible, quickened even more so, his breaths now coming out in short pants.

Clutching his stomach with one hand, Shawn pulled himself back up against a post, glancing drunkenly in all directions for Gus. Eyes squeezed into tight, thin lines of pain that could have been slashed into clay by an Exacto knife, Shawn willed a wave of dizziness to pass, before squinting through them once more.

Had Established Bad Guy #1, possible partner(s) taken his friend? His brother? Hell, at this point everything was so fucked up even he couldn't rule out Gus's infamous ape attack paranoia as anything less than a real possibility. Was Gus missing because Shawn had failed? It was his fault. His observational abilities which had kept both Gus and him safe over the course of their partnership had gone down the toilet before they even reached the first restroom. Panic crackled and froze around him in hitched breaths of confusion as he surveyed the unfazed workers going about their rounds within almost touching distance. Time seemed to lock and unlock at stuttering intervals.

Seemingly from out of thin air (quite thin right now) a pair of boots and hip-waders presented themselves unceremoniously in front of him, and he flinched.

"Oh, god, Gus! I thought…" Shawn didn't have time to finish his sentence before Gus was sitting on the ground next to him.

"Shawn, I'm so sorry, man. I didn't want to leave you here, but I thought I should grab the gear we needed for our next clue as fast as I could, you know, in case you woke up. It's almost time for Lassie and your Dad to show up, and… I just. I can't take him hurting you anymore, Shawn. I can't take it anymore."

"Dude… are you crying?" Shawn stared at Gus's sudden release of emotion and realized he'd been holding it together like a petrified Chia Pet the whole night. That was kind of a huge deal. Gus was a "sympathetic crier." Shawn always thought that was a little lame, but it amused him nonetheless. Now, though, while they sat, both vulnerable, he felt bad about forgetting that Gus was sympathetic in other respects as well, even though he usually bore that "holier than thou" attitude.

"Sorry." Gus wiped the tears off his cheeks. He was already wearing boots and hip-waders over his overalls. Shawn wiped the cold beads of sweat that ran into his eyes colluding with his blurry vision to make seeing anything past his eyelids frustrating as hell.

"The clue said we need to go test the alkalinity and a few other chemical levels in the Rivers of America near The Mark Twain River Boat." He pointed. "Right over there." It wasn't very far away. "Do you think I can help you into these and we can get you down there?"

Shawn looked guiltily at Gus. "Gus, I'm g-gonna be okay. Just. Just gotta get through one l-last th-thing. All p-pine'pples… after… that." He was tired of shivering and trying not to slur his words. Talking was generally his fallback. His cover-up to mask any vulnerabilities or insecurities. Right now he hurt, and he felt like anyone could see every thought he was thinking or knock him over with a feather.

As Gus carefully pulled off Shawn's cowboy boots and helped him into the pair of hip-waders and waterproof boots, Shawn studied the box next to them.

"F-for testing ch-chemicals?" He shivered. Stomach cramping and shooting pain through his whole body… through his fingers and his hair, he knew there was more. "That's all?"

"Shawn…" Gus hesitated. "There is a catch." He flipped open the case. Inside, neatly lined along one side in rows were bottles, test tubes, and instructions—the equipment used to test water samples; and on the other side, also neatly lined, was a row of hypodermic needles and a separate sheet of instructions.

"Need I remind you…" Shawn visibly backed up and paled further, if that was possible.

"Of your 'distaste for pointy things?' No, Shawn. Good news is… uh… well… apparently some of these are pain killers and some are antibiotics, so they might help you." Gus looked freaked.

"And… your sales… r-reptit-tude…" Shawn stammered, knowing what was coming next.

"…does not include unlabeled toxins."

"So we just s-skip the d-drugs. Sounds good." Shawn relaxed minutely, still gasping as sweat rolled down the bangs plastered to his forehead and down his eyelashes.

"I'm so sorry, Shawn, but this freak was right about the challenges getting worse. This time, we have to actually go test the water—" He held up the waterproof notebook. "—and after each result, one of us has to inject the other, taking turns, with an unmarked needle. One of them may contain a toxin. I have no idea. He didn't specify."

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This was all too rich. He really thought the psychic was out of the game already when he'd seen all of that blood come gushing out of his mouth. Holder Sandlin certainly hadn't expected the two partners to make it almost all the way to the docks by The Mark Twain River Boat for his next challenge before Shawn collapsed like a sack of potatoes again. He was out for a quite a few minutes, and Sandlin watched from a distance of about ten feet, obscured by a tree in the uneven shadows, morbid curiosity getting the best of him when the pharmaceuticals representative actually left his unconscious best friend's side to retrieve their box of… goodies.

While Sandlin waited for Gus to return, he alternated between watching his victim's nearly still form take in shallow respirations and fiddling with his own right shoe. The tongue on that shoe still pumped. The other shoe had long ago lost its trademark quality. He had a habit of pumping up that shoe—just the one. Over and over. Probably bad for balance. Not that he had very good balance lately with his… health problems. At least he was good for one final showdown. He was getting that asshole, Henry Spencer back in the worst way possible: by attacking his son. His family. For putting him away during the healthy years of Sandlin's life. During his years spent in a cell, he had lost his son to a car accident. Never had time to say goodbye. Torturing Shawn and messing with his mind and best friend in the process wouldn't make up for that wasted time.

He also liked the way the bright lamps bathed the park in an unearthly glow. It was extraterrestrial... made him feel like he was part of a movie set. With all the painters in headlamps… Music still playing… He had gone unnoticed the whole night.

It felt like there were rubber bands in his head for a moment.

Gus had returned. Shawn was awake.

The two men were suddenly by the river. Had he blinked? Or tripped? Because he was on the ground again. Perhaps he had been the whole time. He may have simply forgotten. It was time to wander in closer and call for back-up.

Grabbing the radio, Sandlin stood and told his accomplice it was time to prepare. With one shoe full of air and the other deflated, he sauntered closer to the water's edge, not unlike a chimpanzee with a sprained ankle forced into bipedal action.

Shawn, leaning heavily against Gus, boots submerged in the river, had just myopically written in the first calculation.

Walker looked at the figure standing beside him with glee as they turned their eyes toward the two men anxiously examining each of the hypodermic needles. Shawn rolled up his sleeve with his eyes clenched, and all parties waited.

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Thank you kindly to everyone who has favorited this story! I would love to see some reviews, as they inspire me very much, and I have had a horrible case of writer's block of late!