Jessica (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sparkysparky) wrote2007-02-23 07:15 pm
sparkysparky) wrote2007-02-23 07:15 pm
PSYCH Fic: How Shawn Survived 2 Gun-Shots and Won the Man of His Dreams (Shawn/Lassiter, PG-13)
Title: Guns Are Not Your Friends, or That Time Shawn Got Shot
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sparkysparky
Fandom: PSYCH
Pairing: Lassiter/Shawn (pre-slash)
Rating: Pg-13ish
Summary: Plot bunny suggested byilsaluvsrick over on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
psych_slash I really liked the idea of this one: 3. Shawn is injured on a case. Lassi's reaction is most unexpected. This can be either an angsty or funny one and ran with it. It’s leaning more towards schmangst than anything. This is my first Psych fic, so any concrit is welcome, especially concerning character voices. No real spoilers, but probably takes place sometime after last week’s episode.
Word Count: Around 1,300 or so.
Warnings: None really. Does disjointed Shawn!Thought count? And out of sequence scenes that are not really flashback but are just disguising themselves as flashbacks? Do those need warnings? Also, unbeta’d because I am a lazy comment-whore who can’t wait the extra day or so to post.
A/N: Was trying for Lassiter POV, but, well, as he usually does, Shawn stole the show. Was anyone really expecting anything less?
A/N 2: I’m not completely satisfied with the ending, but everything I wrote after didn’t have the same feel, so I just ended it where I did. Any suggestions on a better ending will be rewarded with virtual snogs.
If you’ve never seen Psych it’s not completely necessary, but it’s a good idea to know something about the characters. Basic rundown: Shawn Spencer is a drifter-sort (care-free, hates responsibility, always able to come out on top, etc) who decides to put his observational training and nearly perfect memory to good use by assisting the Santa Barbara PD on cases. The catch? He pretends to be psychic (very convincingly too, with lots of outrageous gestures and a penchant for making big scenes) to do so. With the reluctant-at-first-but-slowly-learning-to-like-being –a-PI help of his pharmaceutical rep best friend Gus, Shawn manages to one-up Detective Carlton Lassiter at every turn and solve crimes quite spectacularly. Shawn’s dad, Henry, is a former police officer who is the complete opposite of his son and adds a delightful stabilizing (well, nearly) influence to the show. The show is definitely laugh-out-loud-until-you-pee-your-pants funny, and I very much doubt I’ll do much justice to the characters’ voices, though I’ll give it the ‘ole college try.
1. How it allbegan ended
It wasn’t until he was lying on his back, on a cold, hard sidewalk, looking up at the stars flashing before his eyes and trying to ignore the very disturbing feeling of blood gushing from his shoulder and side, that Shawn realized he loved Lassiter.
The pain was intense, searing and hot and Shawn thought he was probably going to die. He had a sudden flicker of awareness as Lassiter sprang into action, quickly subduing the shooters and calling for back-up, and he had the crazy thought that Lassiter was hiding serious moves beneath that buttoned-up suit persona.
“Dude shot me,” Shawn said calmly, trying to sit up. “I’ve never been shot before.” And to make matters worse, the dudes had just been jacked up on drugs, and weren't even part of the Krupky case that had started the whole thing. It wasn't fair.
“Christ, Spencer, stay the fuck still,” Lassiter hissed, pressing one hand firmly against the wound in Shawn’s shoulder and the other against the wound in his side, and Shawn was certain he was just imagining the panicked tone of Lassiter’s voice.
“Aw, Lassi, didn’t know you cared,” he whispered, reaching up and patting Lassiter’s face in the way he knew Lassiter hated. He thought he could hear sirens in the background, but before he could ask, everything went black.
2. 12 Hours Earlier
“Shawn, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
For the millionth time, Shawn had to wonder why the majority of his conversations with Gus began this way. Seriously, it was starting to worry him.
“Dude, it’s not just a good idea, it’s a great idea. Probably even better than senior year when I staged…”
“The Great Pineapple Rescue. Yes, Shawn, I remember that,” Gus said, pacing around the office like a great overgrown black cat. “I also remember spending the weekend cleaning up exploded pineapple guts in the gym instead of making out with Janice Silverman in the Planetarium.”
Shawn sent Gus a Look. “One,” he said holding up a finger, “There’s no way Janice Silverman would have made out with you, Planetarium aside, and two,” he held up a second finger and used it in tandem with finger number one to flick Gus in the forehead, “dude, the Planetarium? Seriously not on the Top Ten List of Places to Mack on a Hot Chick. I totally saved your rep on that one.”
“Shawn, would you get back on topic? I don’t have all day to stand here debating top ten lists with you. It’s not a good idea to get involved in this case,” he waved the illicitly copied file containing sensitive information on the Krupky kidnapping case in front of Shawn’s face. “These guys are seriously into the mob, Shawn, and I’m not getting involved.”
Shawn quirked an eyebrow at Gus in the same adorable way he used to get sweet little old ladies to give him cookies.
Gus tossed the file onto Shawn’s disaster area he called a desk, and crossed his arms. “I’m serious, Shawn.”
“Of course you are,” Shawn said. He crossed to his desk and picked up the file he’d conned Betty the Administrative Assistant into copying for him. “Now, what I think we should—“
“No, Shawn,” Gus said firmly. “I’m not involved. You’re on your own this time.”
“Gus—“ But Gus was gone, door slamming shut behind him.
3. In which Shawn is probably hallucinating.
He came to, briefly, in the ambulance, and realized that Lassiter was with him, barking commands at the poor EMTs but holding his hand tightly.
Shawn forced his eyes open, and stared fuzzily at Lassiter. “Don’t scare them,” he managed to say. “They’re saving my life.”
He thought he saw Lassiter close his eyes, and felt the hand on his tighten convulsively, and he knew he was probably hallucinating when Lassiter bent down and kissed his forehead gently.
“Don’t you die on me, Spencer,” Hallucination Lassiter whispered. “Or I’ll kill you.”
“Won’t,” he promised, and drifted off again.
4. 4 Hours Earlier
Shawn hated being on his own. He wasn’t nearly as amusing and entertaining by himself as he was when he had an audience.
Which was why he was not not-stalking Lassiter, who was also on his own as he’d been kicked off the case by the Federal Agents who’d come in, claiming that kidnapping once it crossed state lines was a federal offense and local detectives who relied on psychics should just stay out of it.
“But Lassi,” he exclaimed, using the hated nickname because he never grew tired of the ‘Fuck of and Die’ expression it elicited from Lassiter. “Just think. You and me, we’d be like Starsky and Hutch, Cagney and Lacey, Harry and Ron—“
“Who?”
“You know, Harry Potter and his loyal side-kick Ron Weasley. I, of course, am Harry—“
“Just go away, Spencer,” Lassiter growled, pulling his beer bottle closer and hunching over miserably. “It’s your fault I got kicked off my own case. A case which, I should mention, could have been my ticket into the FBI. So, just fuck off.”
Shawn pretended that Lassiter’s accusation didn’t hurt as much as it did, even if there was a small grain of truth in Lassiter’s words, and continued talking.
“The taxi driver was lying!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “He said…”
Lassiter slammed the bottle down on the table, uncaring that it was glass and shattered and tiny pieces of glass flew everywhere. He spun on the rickety stool and glared at Shawn, eyes flashing meanly in the dim light of the bar, looking like some strangely beautiful panther, about to pounce on its prey.
“What part of ‘fuck off’ don’t you understand, Spencer? I’ll use smaller words then. Go. Away.”
Shawn slid from his stool and fled, wondering why his cock as so hard all of a sudden.
5. Bring on the pretty drugs
The voices seemed very far away and were talking about blood pressure and systolic shock and other words that didn’t make any sense to Shawn in his current drug induced happy-place.
“Where’s Lassi?” he slurred, not bothering to open his eyes.
“Your boyfriend’s in the waiting room,” a nurse said, her pretty face swimming into vision. She was holding a scary syringe and if Shawn had been on his game, she never would have been able to stick it in his side like that.
“Not my—“ but he didn’t finish because the pretty drugs had done their job, and he slowly drifted under.
6. 1 Hour Earlier
“I thought I told you to leave,” Lassiter slurred, looking precariously close to falling off his stool.
“I did,” Shawn said quietly. “But I thought you might need a ride.”
“Not riding th’ bike.” Lassiter swayed, and Shawn was there to prop him up. “’M not drunk.”
“Of course not,” Shawn said. He was tired and cranky, and word had come that the Feds had apprehended the kidnappers and found enough information to put Krupky away for life, but for some reason he just wanted to be around Lassiter.
“Come on,” he said, helping Lassiter off the stool and leading him to the door. “I’ll buy you coffee.”
7. In which Shawn proves he’s almost as smart as he is pretty
The first thing Shawn was aware of when he woke up, was the pain. He’d never dealt well with pain though, but he was a Master of Denial, and ignored his body’s insistence that he was dying.
The second thing he noticed was Lassiter, slumped over in a chair with cheek resting on the bed by Shawn’s hip, and that his hair was mussed.
Shawn had never seen Lassiter with messy hair, and in his drug-addled mind, found it adorable.
And adorable was a word Shawn never used, unless he was referring to himself.
“Love you,” he whispered, hand drifting down and tangling his hand in Lassiter’s hair.
He thought he heard, “Love you too,” but he couldn’t be sure, because he was nearly asleep and it was probably a dream, and besides, Lassiter would never admit his feelings so easily.
But he fell asleep with a smile on his face, and when he woke up next, Lassiter was still there.
Author:
sparkysparkyFandom: PSYCH
Pairing: Lassiter/Shawn (pre-slash)
Rating: Pg-13ish
Summary: Plot bunny suggested by
ilsaluvsrick over on psych_slash I really liked the idea of this one: 3. Shawn is injured on a case. Lassi's reaction is most unexpected. This can be either an angsty or funny one and ran with it. It’s leaning more towards schmangst than anything. This is my first Psych fic, so any concrit is welcome, especially concerning character voices. No real spoilers, but probably takes place sometime after last week’s episode. Word Count: Around 1,300 or so.
Warnings: None really. Does disjointed Shawn!Thought count? And out of sequence scenes that are not really flashback but are just disguising themselves as flashbacks? Do those need warnings? Also, unbeta’d because I am a lazy comment-whore who can’t wait the extra day or so to post.
A/N: Was trying for Lassiter POV, but, well, as he usually does, Shawn stole the show. Was anyone really expecting anything less?
A/N 2: I’m not completely satisfied with the ending, but everything I wrote after didn’t have the same feel, so I just ended it where I did. Any suggestions on a better ending will be rewarded with virtual snogs.
If you’ve never seen Psych it’s not completely necessary, but it’s a good idea to know something about the characters. Basic rundown: Shawn Spencer is a drifter-sort (care-free, hates responsibility, always able to come out on top, etc) who decides to put his observational training and nearly perfect memory to good use by assisting the Santa Barbara PD on cases. The catch? He pretends to be psychic (very convincingly too, with lots of outrageous gestures and a penchant for making big scenes) to do so. With the reluctant-at-first-but-slowly-learning-to-like-being –a-PI help of his pharmaceutical rep best friend Gus, Shawn manages to one-up Detective Carlton Lassiter at every turn and solve crimes quite spectacularly. Shawn’s dad, Henry, is a former police officer who is the complete opposite of his son and adds a delightful stabilizing (well, nearly) influence to the show. The show is definitely laugh-out-loud-until-you-pee-your-pants funny, and I very much doubt I’ll do much justice to the characters’ voices, though I’ll give it the ‘ole college try.
1. How it all
It wasn’t until he was lying on his back, on a cold, hard sidewalk, looking up at the stars flashing before his eyes and trying to ignore the very disturbing feeling of blood gushing from his shoulder and side, that Shawn realized he loved Lassiter.
The pain was intense, searing and hot and Shawn thought he was probably going to die. He had a sudden flicker of awareness as Lassiter sprang into action, quickly subduing the shooters and calling for back-up, and he had the crazy thought that Lassiter was hiding serious moves beneath that buttoned-up suit persona.
“Dude shot me,” Shawn said calmly, trying to sit up. “I’ve never been shot before.” And to make matters worse, the dudes had just been jacked up on drugs, and weren't even part of the Krupky case that had started the whole thing. It wasn't fair.
“Christ, Spencer, stay the fuck still,” Lassiter hissed, pressing one hand firmly against the wound in Shawn’s shoulder and the other against the wound in his side, and Shawn was certain he was just imagining the panicked tone of Lassiter’s voice.
“Aw, Lassi, didn’t know you cared,” he whispered, reaching up and patting Lassiter’s face in the way he knew Lassiter hated. He thought he could hear sirens in the background, but before he could ask, everything went black.
2. 12 Hours Earlier
“Shawn, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
For the millionth time, Shawn had to wonder why the majority of his conversations with Gus began this way. Seriously, it was starting to worry him.
“Dude, it’s not just a good idea, it’s a great idea. Probably even better than senior year when I staged…”
“The Great Pineapple Rescue. Yes, Shawn, I remember that,” Gus said, pacing around the office like a great overgrown black cat. “I also remember spending the weekend cleaning up exploded pineapple guts in the gym instead of making out with Janice Silverman in the Planetarium.”
Shawn sent Gus a Look. “One,” he said holding up a finger, “There’s no way Janice Silverman would have made out with you, Planetarium aside, and two,” he held up a second finger and used it in tandem with finger number one to flick Gus in the forehead, “dude, the Planetarium? Seriously not on the Top Ten List of Places to Mack on a Hot Chick. I totally saved your rep on that one.”
“Shawn, would you get back on topic? I don’t have all day to stand here debating top ten lists with you. It’s not a good idea to get involved in this case,” he waved the illicitly copied file containing sensitive information on the Krupky kidnapping case in front of Shawn’s face. “These guys are seriously into the mob, Shawn, and I’m not getting involved.”
Shawn quirked an eyebrow at Gus in the same adorable way he used to get sweet little old ladies to give him cookies.
Gus tossed the file onto Shawn’s disaster area he called a desk, and crossed his arms. “I’m serious, Shawn.”
“Of course you are,” Shawn said. He crossed to his desk and picked up the file he’d conned Betty the Administrative Assistant into copying for him. “Now, what I think we should—“
“No, Shawn,” Gus said firmly. “I’m not involved. You’re on your own this time.”
“Gus—“ But Gus was gone, door slamming shut behind him.
3. In which Shawn is probably hallucinating.
He came to, briefly, in the ambulance, and realized that Lassiter was with him, barking commands at the poor EMTs but holding his hand tightly.
Shawn forced his eyes open, and stared fuzzily at Lassiter. “Don’t scare them,” he managed to say. “They’re saving my life.”
He thought he saw Lassiter close his eyes, and felt the hand on his tighten convulsively, and he knew he was probably hallucinating when Lassiter bent down and kissed his forehead gently.
“Don’t you die on me, Spencer,” Hallucination Lassiter whispered. “Or I’ll kill you.”
“Won’t,” he promised, and drifted off again.
4. 4 Hours Earlier
Shawn hated being on his own. He wasn’t nearly as amusing and entertaining by himself as he was when he had an audience.
Which was why he was not not-stalking Lassiter, who was also on his own as he’d been kicked off the case by the Federal Agents who’d come in, claiming that kidnapping once it crossed state lines was a federal offense and local detectives who relied on psychics should just stay out of it.
“But Lassi,” he exclaimed, using the hated nickname because he never grew tired of the ‘Fuck of and Die’ expression it elicited from Lassiter. “Just think. You and me, we’d be like Starsky and Hutch, Cagney and Lacey, Harry and Ron—“
“Who?”
“You know, Harry Potter and his loyal side-kick Ron Weasley. I, of course, am Harry—“
“Just go away, Spencer,” Lassiter growled, pulling his beer bottle closer and hunching over miserably. “It’s your fault I got kicked off my own case. A case which, I should mention, could have been my ticket into the FBI. So, just fuck off.”
Shawn pretended that Lassiter’s accusation didn’t hurt as much as it did, even if there was a small grain of truth in Lassiter’s words, and continued talking.
“The taxi driver was lying!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “He said…”
Lassiter slammed the bottle down on the table, uncaring that it was glass and shattered and tiny pieces of glass flew everywhere. He spun on the rickety stool and glared at Shawn, eyes flashing meanly in the dim light of the bar, looking like some strangely beautiful panther, about to pounce on its prey.
“What part of ‘fuck off’ don’t you understand, Spencer? I’ll use smaller words then. Go. Away.”
Shawn slid from his stool and fled, wondering why his cock as so hard all of a sudden.
5. Bring on the pretty drugs
The voices seemed very far away and were talking about blood pressure and systolic shock and other words that didn’t make any sense to Shawn in his current drug induced happy-place.
“Where’s Lassi?” he slurred, not bothering to open his eyes.
“Your boyfriend’s in the waiting room,” a nurse said, her pretty face swimming into vision. She was holding a scary syringe and if Shawn had been on his game, she never would have been able to stick it in his side like that.
“Not my—“ but he didn’t finish because the pretty drugs had done their job, and he slowly drifted under.
6. 1 Hour Earlier
“I thought I told you to leave,” Lassiter slurred, looking precariously close to falling off his stool.
“I did,” Shawn said quietly. “But I thought you might need a ride.”
“Not riding th’ bike.” Lassiter swayed, and Shawn was there to prop him up. “’M not drunk.”
“Of course not,” Shawn said. He was tired and cranky, and word had come that the Feds had apprehended the kidnappers and found enough information to put Krupky away for life, but for some reason he just wanted to be around Lassiter.
“Come on,” he said, helping Lassiter off the stool and leading him to the door. “I’ll buy you coffee.”
7. In which Shawn proves he’s almost as smart as he is pretty
The first thing Shawn was aware of when he woke up, was the pain. He’d never dealt well with pain though, but he was a Master of Denial, and ignored his body’s insistence that he was dying.
The second thing he noticed was Lassiter, slumped over in a chair with cheek resting on the bed by Shawn’s hip, and that his hair was mussed.
Shawn had never seen Lassiter with messy hair, and in his drug-addled mind, found it adorable.
And adorable was a word Shawn never used, unless he was referring to himself.
“Love you,” he whispered, hand drifting down and tangling his hand in Lassiter’s hair.
He thought he heard, “Love you too,” but he couldn’t be sure, because he was nearly asleep and it was probably a dream, and besides, Lassiter would never admit his feelings so easily.
But he fell asleep with a smile on his face, and when he woke up next, Lassiter was still there.
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