I'm back! For a minute, at least. My schedule makes it very hard to write very much fanfiction (or anything that's not an essay), but I've had this on my computer for a while now and thought I'd share. It is just a one-shot, just a glimpse into our favorite Psychic's "everyday life." He always gets himself into some sort of trouble.

Disclaimer: I am the proud owner of a new Psych pineapple pillow, but nothing more.

Shawn looked up, flexing his fingers, reveling in the new freedom he felt in his hands. The men weren't looking—this was his chance, if he ever had one.

Gathering all the strength he had from a full day of being tied up in a chair, he sprang up and focused on the door in front of him. He stumbled as he began running and bit his lip. His legs felt insubstantial beneath him.

He ignored this and forced himself forward, seeing the path clear in front of him. He heard a yell, felt something brush his arm, but his adrenaline propelled him forward. He flung open the door with a bang.

He cursed as he nearly tripped down the flight of stairs that was waiting for him. He regained his balance just in time, and began flying down the steps as fast as he could. His hard footsteps echoed loudly throughout the stone stairwell, but he didn't care. He focused purely on hitting the ground, turning the corners on the landings, always constantly aware of the other footsteps that slapped above him.

He rammed himself into the door at the bottom of the stairwell, wincing as he hit. He would have to worry about other injuries later.

As the door opened, he felt the cold rush and sting of the outside air. He paused for only a moment to revel in the freshness of it before taking off.

His sense of time must have been off—it looked close to morning now. The world was still dark, but he could see the faint glint of light in the sky, turning the whole landscape a bluish-gray color. He had been in that place longer than he'd thought.

He shivered. He was still wearing that t-shirt, and it seemed as if he could feel every air molecule like a cold needle prick on his arms. Soon his teeth were chattering. He resolved to buy himself a hot chocolate as soon as he got out of this mess. If he got out of this mess.

He heard each footstep distinctly on the black, shining pavement. He ran straight through the wide cul-de-sac, aiming for the main street that he saw so close. He didn't even feel like he was running; it was almost like flying. Each step drove him forward, his long legs soaring. They still shook with every step, but he knew that if he collapsed he would be taken straight back to that place, tied up again, and watched with an eagle eye. He couldn't afford to be clumsy now.

He reached the main road and turned left, facing downhill, just as he heard the distinct sound of a car engine revving. He suddenly felt sick.

He sped up as he raced downhill, sliding and slipping as he flew, every muscle straining and shaking. He searched desperately for somewhere he could hide, anywhere—

A thought suddenly struck him. His phone was in his pocket. He needed to call someone, needed to call Lassiter…

Fumbling, struggling as he ran, he shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He slid it open with two hands, painfully aware of the time he was wasting by slowing down even slightly. His phone was off.

With numb fingers, he desperately pressed down on the power button until he felt the buzz that signified the phone turning on. He resumed his frantic running while the phone slowly turned on, throwing one glance behind him as he did. The car hadn't turned the corner yet, but it would be any second…

And, with that one glance backward, his foot caught on the pavement and he flew forward.

His face made contact with the street. He gasped with the pain, but numbly picked himself up without a thought. He only had one thing on his mind: don't get caught.

Blackness pricked at the edges of his vision, but he stumbled off the side of the road, half-upright, into the grass. He saw a tree a few feet ahead, some bushes…somewhere he could hide. His legs wouldn't cooperate like they did before, and his mind swirled. His nose was suddenly bleeding profusely.

Nearly sobbing with the effort, he flung himself into the bushes and curled up into a ball, making himself as small as he could, trying to hide from the pain. His bloodied fist was still curled around the phone. Breathing heavily, wheezing, he slid it open and felt his heart jolt painfully. The battery low signal was flashing. It could die any minute.

He lifted himself up with trembling arms and managed to glance over the top of the bushes. The car that had been parked in the cul-de-sac drove past. It was speeding down the hill. He hoped they got pulled over, if there were even any cops close by. It didn't help that he had no idea where he was.

He knew that he had to act fast, though. Sooner or later they would get out of the car and go looking for him on foot, if they hadn't already sent out people from the building. There was open space behind him—just grass. If anyone came from that direction, they would see him clearly.

He slunk back down behind the bushes and focused on getting to the address book of his phone. His thumb wasn't working quite the way he wanted it to, but he wasn't sure if it was from the cold or if he was just that weak. He could feel the adrenaline crash coming already, and the pain. Blackness was gathering. He fought it off as he laboriously searched through his contacts and worked his way down to Lassiter's name.

After what seemed like hours of struggling with his phone, he finally managed to hit the call button. He held the phone up to his ear and wiped his nose, which was still bleeding from his fall. The whole left side of his face throbbed.

It was then that he realized that he didn't know what he was going to say at all.

Reviews are appreciated. Love you all.

~Penn