Don't Count Your Gusses Before They're… Safe?
by PapayaK

Category: Hurt-Comfort / Angst
Season: Sort of an Episode Tag to 'Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark'
Disclaimer: Don't own Psych but I do have a pineapple.

A/N: Wow. Just Wow. I never expected to get totally sucked in by Psych. I wrote my first story, 'Succulent Crab Cakes' because I was fascinated by the unlikely hero with the incredible abilities all hidden behind a façade of boyish charm that is Shawn Spencer – but then I couldn't stop.

Anyways – this story quickly took on a life of its own and surprised me by becoming over twice as long as anything I've written previously - weird!

There will be Friendship and Love (but not the romantic kind). There will be Whump and Angst, a mystery to solve and hopefully it will all make sense at the end. (Feel free to call me on it if it doesn't)

Also - just to clarify, we know that 'Garth Longmore' survived being shot, since he is seen being loaded into an ambulance in "Shawn Takes a Shot" but for the purposes of this story, he died en route.

Enjoy!

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The Purest Form of Freedom
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It was a perfect Santa Barbara morning. Just the kind everyone in the frozen Midwest dreams about as they shovel another foot of snow: Bright sunshine in a clear blue sky, warm but not quite hot, with just a bit of breeze off the ocean. It was perfect. And Shawn Spencer was happy; purely, simply, uncomplicatedly happy. For a man who was pretty much accustomed to living his life in that state, it had been far too long since he had felt this way.

He had just spent an absolutely glorious hour taking full advantage of the weather in his favorite way: He'd been zipping up and down the highway along the ocean on his Norton. Weaving in and out of traffic; Earning more than a few glares from moms in minivans; Going just slightly over the speed limit (because having to talk his way out of a ticket from one of the SBPD's finest was just not on the agenda for today); And feeling the wind in his face.

It really was the purest form of freedom he had ever experienced.

Driving his bike wasn't really a good idea right now. IF he stopped to think about it: it was actually pretty stupid – okay, really stupid: It caused his healing shoulder to ache like – well, like it still had a hole in it – which technically it did.

He carried the unfortunate knowledge that the bullet hole in his scapula wouldn't fully close for four to six weeks yet and, until it did, moving that arm, even a little bit, hurt. And leaning on it, like he did to ride his bike was uncomfortable to say the least.

Shawn's response to this fact was to NOT 'stop to think about it.'

The freedom that was the Norton made him feel alive! And he was far overdue for a little freedom!

(Plus he had every intention of hitting up Gus for some aspirin as soon as he got to the office.)

This morning he needed the feeling of freedom because the whole 'Rollins thing' was finally over.

He pulled off the highway and started making his leisurely way toward Psych, thinking about the last several days.

He still had trouble believing just how fast everything had happened. The DA had really needed a high profile conviction if she was going to win the upcoming elections, so she had pushed for Rollins' trial to start much sooner than it normally would. MUCH sooner.

At the time, he had been tickled by the fact that thwarting an armored truck robbery and being shot was considered 'high profile.' – He was famous!

Henry, on the other hand, had been absolutely furious. He had insisted that Shawn should have at least a week to recover before taking the stand. But the DA wasn't listening. They had Rollins red-handed for murder, assault, accessory to kidnapping, shooting a police consultant and planning to empty an armored truck.
And they had a star witness. It wasn't like they needed time to collect more evidence.

Henry argued – and was over-ruled. Shawn had been surprised and a little confused by the strength of his Dad's feelings.

As things went, Lassie had picked him up from the hospital less than 48 hours after he'd been rescued, and driven him straight to the courthouse.

As the trial began, Shawn hadn't seen a problem with it: he'd just been looking forward to getting the whole thing over with. Plus, 'star witness!' He'd cut out a cardboard star and taped it to the front door at Psych. Gus had added glitter…

He really hated it when his dad was right. By the end of the first day, he knew his dad had been right.

The trial had been a nightmare. He sucked his teeth at the memory. Memory. That was the problem: His stupid memory. They had wanted all the details and he had been under strict instructions not to make light of anything. Shawn Spencer? Not make a joke? out of anything?

Recalling every little detail (he couldn't not) of difficult or unpleasant events was truly painful when he couldn't make jokes. Humor was an effective tool he used in order to survive. He'd taught himself the technique many years ago.

But in the interests of justice he had done it. He'd managed to stick to just the facts, ma'am.

He'd answered a lot of questions he hadn't realized he wasn't quite ready for yet, thank-you very much.

He'd had to describe everything that had happened to him. In detail.

And the worst part about that was the fact that Henry was there: His dad, whom he found out later, had moved heaven and earth to find him.

He hadn't wanted Henry to know half that stuff: The gunshot - well – he knew about that part, but the desperate, terrified dash through the forest, the multiple blows to the head, the choking, the knowing that there was a very good chance he was going to die...

But his dad sat, watched, and listened to him describe one of the worst events of his life to a bunch of people who couldn't have cared less.

Yep, if that ever happened again he would be busy elsewhere.

Maybe Mexico.

He never stuck around for this part of his cases. He caught the bad guy. He delivered the proof. (Not necessarily in that order) That was it. Then he was on to the next case.

But he'd made it through. It was over. Rollins had been convicted and sent away. It was over.

'Poor Garth,' Shawn snorted to himself, thinking of his testimony as he pulled up in front of the Psych office. Yes, he was well aware that 'Garth' was not really his name, but it was permanently stuck in his head that way, and it would take more effort than he wanted to spend to change it.

'Garth' was the one responsible for the hole in his shoulder… but he was actually a pretty good guy underneath it all, and Shawn didn't hold a little 'lead poisoning' against him. In fact, if it weren't for Garth, he'd be pushing up daisies right now. No. Rollins was the bad guy. Rollins was the 'master thief' and the murderer, and Rollins had been put in prison for the rest of his life.

Literally – the rest of his life.

Two days after being incarcerated, Eric Rollins had been killed in a random prison fight. End of story.

Shawn shook his head, thinking about the days following the trial.

During the trial, his dad wouldn't let him go home to his apartment at the old Fluff 'n Fold. And then for several days after the conviction as well, he'd been 'incarcerated' at the old homestead. His Dad had watched him as if he were about to sprout an extra head. At the same time he seemed even more laconic than usual - if that were possible.

Shawn had found his imprisonment extremely annoying not to mention pointless. The only reason (at least to the younger Spencer's way of thinking) that Henry had insisted on having him as a house guest was because he had received some threats during the trial.

The threats had been nothing too scary and, unfortunately, not even anything too unusual. Since Psych had started enjoying some measure of fame and fortune, threats were not an unheard-of occurrence. Shawn rarely paid much attention to them anymore – and especially not these – he could see no reason to as the only person they needed to worry about in this case (or any other recent case) was dead.

Henry worried about them, of course, having nearly lost his only child the previous week. But Shawn didn't. And the threats had stopped coming.

But Henry had insisted on keeping him home anyway, and as much as Shawn had whined about it at the time, 'I'm okay, Dad! I don't need a babysitter!' he had been glad, that first night after the trial ended, to crash in his old bedroom and sleep soundly for the next eighteen hours straight.

He hadn't realized just how exhausted he actually was.

When he had wandered blearily into the kitchen the next afternoon, Henry had frowned and scolded and complained about having a teenager again, but he had also put a warm stack of pancakes and a pot of coffee on the table before flopping on the couch with the newspaper.

Yeah – sometimes it was good to be home.

But now he had arrived at his 'second home.' He grinned happily at the office he shared with Gus. He pulled off his helmet and tucked it under his arm, automatically running a hand through his hair.

He was excited to see Gus. If not for his best buddy, this morning's freedom would have extended into at least a week of mornings in Tijuana. If not for his partner, he may never have returned.

The last several days had been really hard on Gus, too. Just because he didn't verbalize it – would never verbalize it - didn't mean he didn't know – didn't mean he didn't care.

He was looking forward to seeing Gus because, way too early this morning, Chief Vick had called him with a new case: a murder, and they were off on a new adventure.

The Rollins thing was firmly behind them and they were on to something new. It was just what they needed to put bad memories to bed. He couldn't wait to tell Gus all about it! He grabbed the door handle and bounced in.

Once through the door, though, he froze.

The grin vanished.

Fear wrapped cold fingers around his heart and yanked it into his stomach.

Gus's side of the office was completely trashed.

Shawn swallowed hard. It was obvious a major struggle had taken place. Could someone have acted on the threats that Shawn had dismissed? Suddenly, it seemed possible if not likely.

"GUS!" Shawn shouted. He quickly checked every corner of the office. No Gus. He dialed Gus's phone- straight to voicemail. He called Gus's real job- he hadn't come in that morning. And the Blueberry had been parked outside when he pulled up.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them he was in overdrive. He took in every inch of the office: every broken piece, every shifted bit of furniture, every disturbed fiber of carpet, every torn paper. He especially noted the bit of cloth caught on the edge of Gus's bookshelf – could be from the kidnapper's shirt. One sheet of paper had been stomped on and held a partial boot print- not Gus's. There were a few items that might hold fingerprints…

He also saw what was missing: There was no note – no ransom demand. And that fact made his stomach twist. Maybe it was coming yet – or maybe it wasn't.

'Wasn't' was worse.

Maybe if he hadn't taken the long way into work- He quickly shook his head. He knew thinking that way wouldn't help Gus.

He grabbed his phone and was about to call Jules when one more detail caught his eye. He couldn't believe he had missed it the first time. But more likely he hadn't missed it - he had just blocked it out: there was a spot on the edge of Gus's desk that was tinged with blood. Just a trace – but it was easy to see Gus's head being… Shawn scrunched his eyes shut tight. 'Don't see it. Don't see it.' He begged was partially successful at least and dismissed the image before it could lodge in his brain. It would be back, he was sure of that, and when it returned he knew he would be able to see little else.
But right now he had to be able to function.

He dialed Juliet's number.

She answered on the first ring, "Shawn! I was just about to call you. Patrol found a van we believe must have been used in a murder- maybe the one Chief Vick called you in on. It was stolen late yesterday, and it's been abandoned, but she wants you down here to see if you can read anything off it."

"Jules." He said; then stopped. He couldn't continue.

Instantly she knew something was wrong. "Shawn? What is it?"

Shawn swallowed and forced out the words, "Gus is in trouble."

"What?!" he could hear her gasp on the other end of the line, "When? Shawn, what are you talking about?"

"Remember those threats we got? I just got to the office and it is trashed. Must have happened this morning. Last I saw him it was late and he was going home to get some sleep. And…"

"Then you need to get down here, Shawn, now. This van was ditched sometime this morning. And I'll send CSU to Psych when they're done here."

They both stayed silent on the line for a moment. Could the crime scenes be connected? Could the van belong to whoever had grabbed Gus? They'd thrown him in the van and then later ditched it for… for what?

Jules had said, 'murder.'

"On my way." Shawn responded tightly once she had given him the location.

His mind racing, he pulled on his helmet and was down the street before he fully realized he had left the office.

TBC…

I hope I've caught your interest… Please leave a review if you are so inclined. -Papaya