A/N: Tag to the best Psych episode ever, 'Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark'.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

His hand shook as he reached towards the spray of water. He carefully cupped his hand to allow the cold water to fill before bringing his hand back to his face, splashing the water against his skin. He repeated the process a few more times, hoping that the sudden coldness would clear his head. The water dripped from his face to thump against the sink in an irregular rhythm, and his hand continued to shake.

He glanced briefly at the shaking limp, reeling backwards and almost toppling over as he stared at the redness curling around his fingers.

He blinked.

No more redness, only the clear liquid of water could be seen on his hand. He willed his heart to slow down and his breathing to return to normal as he reached for a towel to dry his face. He held the towel tightly against his face with his right hand, which tightened around the material as he drew in a few deep breaths.

"Shhh shh shh…"

The towel slid from his hand and landed in a heap on the floor. His body slumped down until he sat on the closed toilet seat, his head hanging low as he stared at his hands.

He had taken off the sling when he went to sleep that night, finding it horribly and annoyingly claustrophobic in a way that made it impossible for him to forget about the bullet wound in his shoulder. That didn't mean that he could forget anyway. There had been so much blood. His blood. He saw it every time he looked at his hands. He had never been squeamish about the sight of blood, but then again, he had never been shot before and it had never been his blood that he saw in quite that extreme quantity.

Shawn drew in a shaky breath and ran his right hand through his hair, letting it rest on the back of his neck as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He hadn't dreamt during his time in the hospital and he had thought nothing of it. Now he figured it was the drug cocktail he was on or maybe it was that now, the day of his release, his first night away from the hospital, his brain had had enough time to really realise what he had been through. Apparently it wanted to be sure that he didn't forget.

He wasn't sure why he had relented but his father had been adamant that he was staying at his childhood home at least for a few days. Thinking back he wasn't sure he really had put up a fight at all. It was more of a pout, which Henry had merely returned with a pointed glare. That didn't change the situation, though.

He had awoken with a start, his breathing close to the point of hyperventilating. He had barely made it to the bathroom before his stomach attempted to expel what little content it had. He'd dry heaved a few times before flushing and turning to the sink.

"I want you to imagine a bullet coming from that gun, penetrating your skin and lodging in your brain."

He sniffed loudly as he brought his head down low enough to be able to raise both hands and press his palms against his eyes, begging his mind to just stop thinking. He kept seeing the bullet coming at him, just slow enough for his hyperactive mind to register it, but too fast for him to move. At the same time as trying desperately hard to not think about the events of that day he couldn't prevent the thoughts of what could have happened if he had done something – anything – different. It wasn't enough that he was safe now because he could still remember.

"Shawn?"

He nearly jumped half a meter into the air and only just managed not to fall off the toilet seat before turning startled eyes to the doorway, thoroughly surprised to see his dad standing there.

"Are you alright, son?" Henry asked as he turned on the light and moved further into the bathroom.

Shawn realised that maybe it would be a wise move to answer before his dad caught onto the fact that he had woken from a nightmare and gone to cry in the bathroom like a child.

He gasped in a breath quickly and sniffed once before meeting his father's gaze.

"You know," he exhaled before quickly gulping in the next breath, "I thought it was customary for people to sleep during the night, not go wondering around their house."

He realised the error of his words just as he'd spoken. He closed his eyes and waited with a baited breath for his dad to turn his words back on himself, but when Henry didn't answer and he instead heard him step closer he looked up.

"Come on," Henry said in a tone that could almost be considered gentle as he placed a hand on Shawn's right shoulder, "I don't think going down to get coffee at three in the morning is the best idea."

How did his father know that was exactly what he had planned to do? He had hoped that going downstairs and drinking a cup or five of coffee would make sure he would stay awake for the rest of the night, but apparently Henry did not see the necessity of this plan.

It was only now that he realised that his bare feet were feeling rather chilled against the tiled floor and that the cold was starting to percolate to the rest of his body, a t-shirt and boxers hardly enough to keep him warm at this moment in time.

"I wasn't going to get coffee," Shawn lied in an attempt to gain the upper hand on the situation. He was slipping, he knew it, and he hated it.

"Sure you weren't," Henry answered him nonchalantly.

Though he would never admit it, he was quite certain that had his dad not been there, then his attempt to stand up would have ended in a face plant on the tiled floor. As it happened, Henry's hand on his shoulder steadied him as he started to wobble, grounding him long enough for him to get his legs underneath him.

"Whoa, easy," his dad mumbled as he tightened his grip slightly on Shawn's shoulder.

Shawn didn't answer him, words failing him. There was nothing to say unless he wanted to embarrass himself further. He allowed his father to lead him out of the bathroom, his feet shuffling along. His shoulder was throbbing dully making it impossibly hard for him to just try and pretend that nothing was wrong; that nothing had happened.

He stopped in his tracks when he realised Henry was leading him back to his bedroom. He was in no hurry to experience flashbacks again. It was enough that he had already awoken once and raced to the bathroom. Twice in one night would just be overkill.

"What do you care? You'll be dead."

"Look, I'm not all that tired, so I'll just go downstairs and…" he had spoken quickly, desperately seeking some excuse or some plausible explanation but finding none. He could always spew some story about bed bugs but he knew from past experiences that his father did not care much for these stories, therefore bringing him no further away from his bedroom.

"Shawn, it's quarter past three in the morning," Henry answered with an exasperated sigh, "you can't honestly expect me to believe that you are not tired."

Shawn didn't miss the way his dad pointedly said 'you', wondering if maybe that statement had anything to do with Shawn's usual sleep patterns or if it was his dad's way to remind him of recent events. Of course he was actually tired. How could he not be? With the painkillers he was taking along with the recent blood loss and trauma, it would be a wonder if he wasn't tired. His mind offered a perfect frame by frame repeat of every agonizing minute of that day and he really, really didn't need his subconscious to take over, leaving him defenceless in the onslaught of images and sounds playing through his mind. He had thought that nothing could be worse than the nightmares he had after Yang, that he still had on occasion, but apparently getting shot did nothing good for your psyche.

Before he could think of a response Henry was leading, or dragging, Shawn into the bedroom. Shawn couldn't deny that it was too cold to just stand around during the night, but he knew that he was bound to fall asleep as soon as he relented to what his father wanted.

"Well, this has been an interesting experience," Shawn said grasping for as much cheerfulness in his voice as possible as he dodged out from under his dad's hold, "I think I can handle it from here."

Henry eyed him and Shawn did his very best not to squirm or look away from his dad's gaze.

"Alright," his dad nodded, "if you're sure."

With a pat on his shoulder, Henry turned and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Shawn allowed his mask to fall as the stared at the wood of the closed door. He was alone again and he found that he hated it. He had felt so alone before, but even now he couldn't shake that feeling of helplessness that washed over him approximately every three point four seconds.

"I say we just shoot him in the head and dump the body…"

Bringing his right hand up to press against the bridge of his nose, he sniffed again, drawing in a gasping breath. He backed up until his legs hit the side of the bed, allowing his body to slump down so he was sitting on top of the covers. The darkness of the bedroom was too stifling and he quickly reached over to turn on the bedside lamp, softly illuminating the room. He looked around the sanctum of his childhood, desperately trying to get his mind to focus on anything, but it was as if any object in his room that usually might have caught his attention dulled in comparison to his overwhelming memories.

A shudder ran through him and he remembered the cold he had experienced before in the bathroom. With a sigh he forced himself to his feet and started drawing back the covers, keeping his eyes locked on the lamp for as long as could.

The side of his face hit the pillow and it smelt briefly of wet moss and earth. With a sharp intake of breath he looked up at the ceiling instead, watching the shadow the lamp had created as it illuminated one side of the room more than the other.

"One stupid move and I've got more than enough plastic bags for your body parts, got it?"

He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, bringing them away quickly and staring at them, surprised at the sudden wetness. Oh dear God, he wasn't crying, was he? He quickly wiped away the few stray tears that had managed to escape, putting the whole crying thing down to the fact that he had simply stared at the light from the lamp for too long.

His eyes landed on the bedroom door as he heard it creek open slowly. A chair entered the room, followed by Henry. As soon as his dad was in the room he closed the door again.

"What are you doing?" Shawn asked as confusion and curiosity got the better of him.

Henry didn't answer at first, instead bringing his chair over to the right of Shawn's bed and sitting down. Not until he had shifted a few times did he look up and meet Shawn's gaze.

"Well, I," Henry took deliberate time to clear his throat before continuing, "I'm not going to leave you alone, am I? At least this way I can be sure you don't try and drink coffee this early in the morning."

"Ah," Shawn breathed out with a small nod, trying to suppress the feeling of relief that was trying to wash over him. Seriously, he wasn't five, was he? He didn't need his dad sitting there all night in order for him to sleep.

"Shhh shh shh…"

Or maybe he did.

He looked away from his father, focusing back on the ceiling at the same time as hoping that all traces of his tears were gone. It would be way too obvious for him to actually check.

"This is really awkward," he mumbled after a while of staring pointedly at anything but his father.

"You'll live," his dad answered and Shawn's gaze briefly flickered over to meet Henry's, unsure whether or not there was a double meaning behind the words. "Go to sleep, Shawn."

Henry put on his reading glasses and flipped open some fishing magazine Shawn hadn't even realised he had brought with him.

Shawn rubbed his neck before realising what he was doing and dropping his hand rest on top of the bullet wound.

"I can't," he admitted in a soft whisper.

"You want me to read you something from this?" Henry asked without looking away from the magazine.

"No, God no," Shawn said quickly, horrified at the idea, "I don't need more nightmare material."

He shut his mouth quickly, closing his eyes in defeat with the realisation that he had basically just told his dad that he was having nightmares. His dad. What little dignity he had left was withering away ever so slowly.

With closed eyes there were no images to distract his mind from itself, leaving an open window for everything he was trying to keep out to creep through. He could feel Garth Longmore's – though, Shawn knew that was not the man's name – hand closing around his throat, the other holding tightly against his chest, preventing even the slightest bit of movement. He had tried so desperately hard to cry out, nothing more than a half-strangled – pun fully intended – croak escaping. Longmore had shushed him like a parent shushing a child's fears away, but it was wrong. It was all wrong. He was the one preventing Shawn from crying out for help, for his dad. He had tried again and again until Longmore's fingers were crushing his throat so badly he couldn't even breathe. He had watched his dad and Lassiter leave, the hope that one of them would look through the window and see him withering away.

A hand touching his shoulder caused his body to jerk in shock and his eyes to shoot open only to find his father's concerned eyes looking back at him.

"Just breathe, Shawn, breathe."

He hadn't realised that his breathing had sped dramatically again. He gasped in a breath, trying to hold it but failing, quickly gasping in another one.

"Just take it easy, son," Henry murmured as he squeezed Shawn's shoulder.

Shawn tried to focus on that pressure alone, hoping that it was enough to draw him out of the grave he was digging for himself. He drew in a breath, releasing it slowly as he willed his body to relax. He lay back against the pillows looking at the ceiling again as he concentrated on simply breathing.

"Are you alright?" Henry repeated the question he had asked earlier in the bathroom, though this time Shawn had a feeling he would not take silence for an answer.

"I'm fine," Shawn mumbled.

"Obviously," Henry answered sarcastically. Shawn looked at him, trying to plead with a look to not talk about it. Clearly his father misunderstood. "Shawn, you can't –"

"Can we just not do this right now?" Shawn pleaded, shocked to hear how like a child he sounded. "I'm fine, it's nothing."

He closed his eyes again and tried to turn his head away from his father, horrified to feel his eyes burning again.

Henry sighed deeply, his hand leaving Shawn's shoulder only to linger on his son's cheek, brushing away a stray tear. The motion caused another shudder to run through Shawn, though this time it came with a burning in his gut and a rough pressure in his throat as more tears threatened to fall.

He felt weak for the dramatic display of emotion and rapidly brought his hand up to quickly remove all traces of tears, a low growl emitting from his throat as he frantically tried to get a hold of himself.

A hand caught his bringing it back down on the mattress on top of the covers. He bit his lip, willing it stop quivering, as he felt his father's hand rest against his hair, the other still holding his in a soft grip. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, drawing in a long, stuttering breath.

He wasn't alright.

"I can't stop thinking about it," he admitting quietly, not trusting his voice to speak any louder.

"I know."

Shawn suddenly found it hard to keep everything bottled inside; wanting to tell someone the horror his mind was forcing him through. It was hard, though. It was never as easy as they made it seem on TV or in books. He could not even pinpoint exactly what was causing his insides to freeze in terror. He could only hope that time did indeed heal all wounds.

I'm not entirely happy with the ending, but I hope it was okay.

Thanks for reading, and please leave a review to let me know what you think!