Dive Too Deep

Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, or the song Dive Too Deep.

AN: My first Psych fic, so I apologize in advance if there's any OOC-ness. If you can't tell from the disclaimer, this story is also loosely based on the song Dive Too Deep by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. Look it up. :D There's also Shassie. Its kind of small, but its there, so if you don't like don't read. Enjoy!

~If I get too weak, you'll hold me close and tell me I'm fine.~

Shawn Spencer had a terrible habit of sticking his nose into places that it didn't belong in. Now, that was the main reason that Lassiter had explicitly told him that he had to stay behind. Not only was this case dangerous, but there was also a very high chance that this criminal was out to get said "psychic". However, Shawn being Shawn had decidedly taken it upon himself to once again further inconvenience the head detective.

"What the hell are you doing here, Spencer?" The blue eyed man growled quietly.

The smaller, shorter of the two crouched behind a crate with a goofy grin on his face, "I just wanted to see what you were up to, Lassie. Don't worry, I won't get in the way." The sound of footsteps caused Shawn to throw a hand over his mouth and attempt to silence his breathing. They were currently stuck in a warehouse with a crazed escaped criminal, and yeah, there were other cops around, but one couldn't exactly put all their faith in law enforcement. That much, Shawn had learned.

"That's the problem. You always do whether you're trying or not." Carlton resisted the urge to sigh, mostly because the situation required him to remain quiet, and narrowed his eyes at the smaller male, "Listen, stay here. If you so much as move I swear to God I will make sure that the Chief never lets you take another case." With that, he glanced around and furtively dashed behind another set of crates. The footsteps paused, and then continued on, following the direction that Lassiter had gone in.

Shawn frowned, but settled down and made himself comfortable none the less. It was then that he felt the cold metal of the barrel of a gun shoved against his head. A situation that he was far too familiar with for it to be healthy. Nervously, he chuckled and turned his hazel gaze to the owner of the weapon. It was a man, probably in his late thirties, with a familiar face. The fake psychic had a feeling that this was probably the guy they were looking for.

He was about to call out to Lassiter when the man whispered, pushing the gun closer to Shawn's head,

"Say anything and this bullet will be in your skull." With that, the buff man gripped Shawn's arm and forced him to his feet. The smaller stumbled slightly, but otherwise made himself completely quiet. Ever since he'd been pistol-whipped and kidnapped at gunpoint, he'd developed something of a phobia of guns. Not that he would ever let anyone know that. Not even Gus knew about his hidden fears. Still, he was slightly proud of himself for being able to remain this calm.

Reaching a hand into his pocket, he was about to start dropping gum wrappers in hopes of leaving a trail for the others, when he felt a sharp pain in his skull. Pistol-whipped, again. Grunting, he stumbled and found that there was still something holding him up. The criminal, convict, whatever, still had one of his meaty hands wrapped around Shawn's much scrawnier limbs.

The stranger's glare darkened, "Don't even think about it."

It was then that a flashlight was shined very close to where they were.

"Shawn?" A female voice called out.

"Talk to her. But say anything about me and I will shoot you." With that, the man disappeared behind a stack of boxes.

"Oh...hey Jules." Shawn responded, grinning. It didn't reach his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" The blonde woman walked up to him, eying him warily.

Shawn glanced towards the boxes, "Well...I was following Lassie to see if I could get any reads on our guy. Haven't found anything yet though. I was just thinking about leaving, actually." He chuckled, but it sounded fake, and gave away the fact that something, Juliet didn't know what, was wrong. She stepped closer, tilting her head and examining him closely.

"What's wrong?"

Shaking his head, he stepped away from her, ignoring the dizziness that swept over him, "N-nothing, Jules. Just go see if you can catch this guy, alright?"

"Al...alright then, Shawn. If you say so. Don't move from here, okay? There's a dangerous guy on the loose."

And just like that, she turned and sneaked away. God how could they all be so stupid? He silently thought to himself as he once again felt the cool gun placed against his temple. The heavy breathing of the stranger was back, sending shivers down his spine, and not the good kind. Maybe Lassie was right. He really needed to stop being so nosy all the time. He'd been kidnapped and taken hostage so many times that he'd lost count. Maybe this would be the time that he wouldn't come out al- He cut that thought off and tried to think positive.

"Let's go. Towards the door. We're leaving."

He found himself being pushed towards the door, and forced himself to remain silent. It was amazing how nobody had noticed that he was gone, or that he was even there at all. Though it could have been the fact that every time a flashlight came by, the strange gunman behind him would push them into the shadows and threaten to shoot him if he made a noise. His gaze traveled around the warehouse, noting the several lights that were very close to them.

Much to his dismay, they reached the door.

"Open it." The disgusting breath of the man touched his ear once more.

Shawn grimaced and shivered, but did as he said. He grabbed the handle and twisted, but found the door to be locked. His hazel eyes moved to the man behind him, and he murmured quietly, "It's locked." There was another pain in his skull, and he silently reminded himself that if he were ever to be held at gunpoint again he would keep his mouth shut.

The gunman growled, and whispered, "Then unlock it. I know you can pick locks."

Creepy. Shawn thought, slowly reaching a hand into his pocket, and then, deciding it would be best to state what he was doing, muttering, "I'm going to grab a pin from my pocket. Nothing else." With that, he pulled the pin out and moved it to the lock on the door. It took only a matter of seconds, and the brunette found himself mutely berating himself for the skills he'd picked up over his lifetime. They were not helpful at this point.

"Go outside."

Wincing as a wave of dizziness washed over him, the fake psychic realized that he probably had a concussion. Great. Those were so much fun. Mentally sighing, he wrapped a hand around the handle of the door and slowly pushed it open. It didn't make a noise, unfortunately, but it was also a good thing considering he would probably get shot otherwise. The gun pressed itself into his back as he stepped outside into the cool night air. It was a perfect day to be kidnapped by a crazy person.

A hand slipped itself into his pocket, and he froze as his keys were removed.

"Thanks for the help, Mr. Spencer." With that, a single gunshot cut the silence.

Footsteps came running, but Shawn knew that they were going to be too late. He ignored the flaring pain that radiated from his gut and crawled forward. There were shards of glass on the ground, and he knew that if he could just reach one and puncture one of the tires on his bike he would be able to stop the guy. Then, at least, Lassie could catch him. He'd be proud. Shawn thought grimly, and, despite his situation, he grinned at the thought.

His fingers stretched and just barely managed to clasp the glass shard tightly. It cut into his hand, but it was nothing compared to the pain from the gunshot wound. With the last bit of his energy, he crawled closer to the bike, which the man was just getting started. With a grunt, he threw the shard towards the back tire, much like someone would fling a throwing knife. To his surprise, and slight enjoyment, there was a loud hiss as the air left the rubber wheel.

"You little shit!" The man shouted, stepping off the bike and aiming his gun at Shawn once more.

Someone else shouted, and then two simultaneous gunshots sounded. The criminal fell to the ground, blood pouring from his chest.

With a small smile, Shawn shut his eyes and let himself go limp, tired beyond all means.

"Spencer." A very familiar voice called, "Wake up."

He felt himself being turned over and grinned, knowing who it was, "It sounds like you're worried about me, Lassie."

"Shut up, Spencer. Just stay awake." Lassiter growled, but his voice cracked slightly. He examined the wounds on Shawn's body. Two gunshots, one in the stomach, the other in his leg. They were both bleeding profusely, and he could tell that the smaller was losing blood fast, "Call for an ambulance!" He shouted to the cops that had surrounded them. A voice nearby told him that it had already been done.

"'m sleepy." Shawn murmured, eyelids fluttering. Pain wracked his body, and he couldn't keep himself from asking, "'m I gonna die?"

Carlton frowned, pulling Shawn's head into his lap and acting very un-Lassiter like, "No, Shawn. You'll be fine. Just stay with me."

The fake psychic chuckled, wincing when blood came from his mouth, "You called me Shawn."

Pain wracked his body, and Shawn was having a very hard trying to concentrate. He wanted to reassure Lassie. Tell him that he was going to be fine. In the images he caught between the rapid blinking of his eyes, he saw the worry that coated the head detectives face. It was...a nice feeling, to have the man worried about him. He knew that all the teasing he'd done over the years had been his attempt at flirting. He knew that he liked Lassiter more than a friend, and still he had never said anything. But now, on the brink of what felt like death, he smiled slightly and murmured:

"Love you, Lassie."

Before passing out completely.

Lassiter's eyes widened, and then he found himself being pulled away from the brunette. Paramedics surrounded him, tying his wounds and loading him onto a stretcher. The gunman lay on the ground, having already been determined to be dead. Despite the brief satisfaction he felt from that, the head detective knew that it had not been worth Shawn getting shot. He shouldn't have been there in the first place! And even though he was angry he still found the worry overpowering.

In a matter of moments, Shawn was loaded onto the ambulance.

Carlton found himself dashing forward and jumping at the chance to ride in the back. He had to know that the other would be okay. As they rode towards the nearest hospital, he couldn't help but ponder why the hell he was in the back of the ambulance with the person that he'd claimed to hate and despise with all his being. But...the words that the fake psychic had spoken, could they have been true? How could he like someone like Lassiter? But strangely, strangely enough, said detective found himself wanting to reciprocate those feelings.

Later, Lassiter sat in the waiting room, fingers pressed into his temples.

Suddenly a voice called, "Family of Shawn Spencer?" Breaking the detective out of his thoughts.

"How is he?" The tall man questioned, standing.

"He had some internal bleeding, and we had to give him a few transfusions. He also has a minor concussion. But otherwise, with enough rest, he should be fine. He won't be able to walk for a while without using a crutch, considering the bullet lodged itself in his thigh, but he will make a full recovery." The doctor stated, smiling slightly when the other breathed a sigh of relief, "You can see him, if you'd like."

Once again Lassiter found himself jumping at the chance to be with Shawn.

Hours later, one of Shawn's eyelids finally cracked open.

The first thing he noticed was the overwhelming sense of disorientation. Then he noticed that someone was holding his hand. Immediately his thoughts flew to Juliet, but when he opened his eyes completely, he noticed that it was, in fact, not Jules. It was Lassie, and, well, the fake psychic realized that he didn't mind it too much. Yawning, he noted that the pain had dulled a lot, and he was in a hospital room. So he must be alive, then.

Grinning slightly, he murmured, "G'morning, Lassie."