AN: Hey friends, since psychfic is being remodeled I'm gonna continue to move the rest of my stories over here. This one is completely written so part 2 will be up soon. I hope you all enjoy.

A psychic would have seen it coming.

Despite common belief Shawn Spencer was not a psychic.

Shawn did notice the kid was acting nervous. He kept shuffling from one foot to the other, twirling the string on his jacket. Shawn also noticed the boy's eyes move to something over the fake psychic's shoulder. By that time it was too late.

A psychic would have seen them coming. In fact, a psychic may not have stopped his bike in the first place; maybe not even gotten out of bed that morning, or at the very least a psychic would not have taken off his helmet.

Shawn very rarely wished his powers were real. Knowing the future just seemed like a hassle, and a real psychic would not get into half the crazy situations Shawn enjoyed so much; but as something hard collided with the back of his leg and something sharp ripped across his shoulder…Shawn Spencer really wished he was psychic.

And this had started out as such a good day.

Shawn straddled his Norton, surveying the world around him. The sun was shinning—ok, so this was Santa Barbra and one would be hard pressed to find a day where it wasn't shinning—there was a crime scene primed to be crashed, and though Gus was out of town Mrs. Pickles still hadn't had her kittens yet.

So it was then, on the way to the crime scene that he passed a warehouse…and all this started.

"Hey you! You're the psychic!" the call sounded harmless, excited even. Shawn smiled to himself, secure in the knowledge that this was a good day and nothing ever went wrong on good days. He pulled over to the curb and saw the source of the yell running up. It was a kid of about fourteen, wearing a baggy old jacket and a cap that couldn't seem to keep from falling over his blue eyes. The first thing Shawn noticed was that it was far too hot for such a jacket. The second thing was the kid's nervous shuffle. Excited maybe? But it just seemed off to the perceptive pseudo psychic.

"You are the psychic?" the kid asked…hopefully?

"That's me, Shawn Spencer," he replied still feeling ill at ease. Still, this was just a kid.

Maybe he's worried I'll divine where he really was last night when he promised his parents he was doing homework, Shawn considered.

"M' Jimmy," the kid offered. That was when his eyes shifted.

Shawn collided with the unforgiving pavement. He tired to fiend off his attackers but a boot to the gut quickly ended that.

"How do you like that psychic!" one of the spat at him. Shawn curled up protectively, as the jeers and abuse continued. He forced his mind to focus through the pain. How many voices were mocking him? They all blended with the barrage of kicks. He recklessly forced open his eyes trying to get a glimpse, a chance…anything.

His eyes met with two scared blue eyes, as Jimmy looked down at him in obvious horror.

Suddenly the attack stopped and whoever they were drew back. A shadow fell across his vision and the fake psychic lifted his head as much as he could manage. A face hovered over him. Shawn tried to commit it to his photographic memory but the face was to blurry…his vision was blurry?

"You think your so tough psychic?" the voice growled, venom dripping from his words. A glint of silver flashed in front of Shawn's eyes, and even his cloudy mind knew this was not good.

"You may have everyone else fooled, but not me," the man whispered. Before Shawn could croak out a response, the knife swiped across his cheek. Shawn sucked in a breath, but that only hurt more.

Chu-chuc. A shot gun? Shawn could not seem to get that part to fit in with everything happening, none of these dark blurs held a shotgun.

"What's going on here?" An older gruff voice asked.

Suddenly all the dark blurry thugs scattered and Shawn had never felt more relieved. He forced himself up, his vision clearing slightly as he saw his rescuer, the nice one with the big gun.

"You alright kid?" he asked kneeling down beside Shawn. The man had speckled gray hair and brown eyes that had seen hardship, but the lines on his face suggested he was no stranger to laughing.

"M'k," Shawn slurred pulling himself up to a sitting position. Pain flared through his middle. He grimaced noticeably.

"Sure you are," the man replied skeptically. "I'll call you an ambulance."

"No, I'm ok…really," Shawn replied, his mind beginning to clear. "They just roughed me up a bit."

"Yeah I noticed," the man replied shaking his head. "I haven't seen anything like that in a long time."

"Retired cop?" Shawn asked knowingly.

"Yeah. Look I'm gonna call the ambulance now."

"No it's ok. I'll be fine." He looked the man over carefully. "Besides you won't want to keep your wife waiting…" Shawn cast a look at the shot gun. "and…teenage daughter?"

"How did you know?" The man started in surprise.

"Shawn Spencer, head psychic of the SBPD," he answered sticking out his hand. The man took it in his own rough one.

"Sam Nelson, retired SBPD beat cop." The man took Shawn's arm, carefully pulling him to his feet. "Are you sure you're gonna be fine?"

"Right as rain." At that point Shawn would have normally lunched into a monologue about how right rain could ever possibly be, but he was just too tired. "Well, Sam Nelson…I am in your debt." The man waved it off.

"Just get your face stitched up and we'll call it even," Sam replied. The fake psychic lifted his hand to his cheek and brought it back red.

Shawn wanted to argue but more pressingly he wanted sleep. So with that he gave a pained smile and headed to his bike, trying very hard not to limp.

The Norton rumbled to life under him, which at the moment was not a pleasant feeling. He pulled on his helmet, instantly cringing as it bumped against his injured cheek, and began driving back to his apartment with thoughts of the warm couch waiting for him.

--

His first thought was, that cloud looks like a pineapple.

His second thought was a bit more cognitive. Why the heck am I staring at the sky?

Shawn shut his eyes and focused. He remembered heading back to his apartment after talking to that Nelson guy…but what then? He began to pick himself up and his vision instantly swam. That's right. He was driving when suddenly the road wouldn't seem to sit still. Shawn was notoriously reckless, but he generally avoided putting others lives in danger. So, he pulled over for a minute to get his bearings and then…whump, he was on the ground.

As much as Shawn hated to admit it—and he really really hated to admit it—he needed help.

Laying his head back against the grass he fumbled with his cell phone. He pulled it up and hit 2 on his speed dial. Lies about his bike running out of gas ran through his mind, but when the answer came on the other end there was only one thing he could say.

"Dad, I need help." His voice must have sounded about as good as he felt because there was urgency in the reply.

"Where are you?"

--

Henry had been having a good day. He went fishing, then as the sun rose over the ocean the rays of light made the whole thing sparkle. Hey, he may be a man but even still he could admit that had been just down right beautiful.

He had just arrived home feeling hungry when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID.

"Shawn," he replied about ready to lunch into the list of things his son had promised to do that week.

"Dad, I need help."

The blood drained from his face. The pain in his son's voice was so tangible Henry could feel it in his gut.

"Where are you?"

His son's reply was even more disheartening.

"Somewhere…uh...north of my apartment." The words were spoken so quietly he had to strain to hear them.

"Ok, kid I'll be right there."

Henry had always preached about proper driving, but that day he broke every traffic law he knew and didn't slow until he came to Shawn's apartment. His eyes scanned the scenery.

The first thing he saw was the bike. Henry pulled over quickly, his eyes locked on the abandoned vehicle. It looked roughed up. Scratches down the sides but not bad enough for a crash. But as he got out of the truck he realized the bike had nothing on the person lying beside it.

Shawn was a mess. His shirt was covered in dirt and traces of blood. A bruise was steadily forming on his face and his chin had obviously been scraped from hitting concrete a little too hard.

He looked up as Henry came over. The older Spencer would have been relieved that at least his son was responsive if it hadn't been that when Shawn turned to him, Henry got to see the other side of his son's face.

The huge cut running across his cheekbone was unmistakable. A knife?

Shawn pulled himself up, wincing at the motion. Henry quickly kneeled down, laying a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"You look like heck," was the only thing Henry could muster. Shawn laughed slightly, grimacing as the motion sent pain through his midsection.

"Nice to see you to," he replied. Henry took another minute to regain himself.

"Ok kid, let's get you out of here."

It was a true testament to how badly off Shawn was that he didn't try and fight. His father carefully lifted Shawn to his feet, half helping half carrying him to the car. As Henry helped him into the car he took the chance to subtly examine him further. Shawn was moving carefully, leaning mostly on one leg. His breathings was purposefully shallow and his movements slightly disorientated.

"What about my bike?"

"I'll go back for it," Henry replied absently. He cast sideways glances at his son as they drove. The kid was leaning heavily against the car door, already touching the rim of unconsciousness. Henry realized that his many questions would have to wait.

Several silent minutes passed before Shawn sat up straight.

"You missed your turn," he accused.

"Kid, you need a hospital," Henry raised a placating hand. "It's not up for negotiation Shawn."

"What can a doctor tell me that I don't already know?"

"Like what? That you have at least one broken rib?" Henry retorted. "Or how bout what's wrong with your leg?" He looked into Shawn's defiant eyes. "You can't hide anything from me kid." Shawn reared to snap back, but there was something in his father's eyes that stopped him.

The anger was there, but only on the surface. A little of the concern Henry was feeling leaked into his eyes and caught Shawn off guard.

"I'm taking you to the hospital and that's final," his father stated firmly.

"Fine," he replied turning to the window, a grin creeping onto his features.