Author's Note: All fabric softeners, suffering psychics, and their stripping sidekicks are the property of others. I would never incorporate an evil such as the anthropomorphized Snuggle bear into a pleasant smelling creature comfort. Nightmares are made of such unpleasantries. The wonky bits are mine, all mine, as usual, as is, also as per usual, the lack of plot. This plot-withholding shall cease shortly. I don't go to air shows with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended, though I would feel mightily pleased with myself if anyone cared enough about my fic to point a finger.


"Shawn, wake up!" He felt a shallow sigh. More softly, "You've got to wake up for me, buddy. I need you." At that, a freezing-cold hand came back up sluggishly to meet his. "That's right. I'm right here." Gus breathed, closing his eyes.

"Shawn, the man who attacked you is right across the creek. He's passed out or something. I don't know. Maybe a seizure." Shawn's breathing quickened instantly in response. Gus rested his fingers on his friend's neck once more to see how he was doing. Too fast. He was shivering again in his cold, wet clothes. From shock too, Gus guessed from the fresh blood he'd seen dripping from Shawn's body in the light before his sickening plunge into the water. Gus had pulled Shawn's feet out as soon as he realized he wasn't slipping away from him that instant, but that was little consolation.

"Okay, Shawn. I'm going to help you take your jacket and your shirts off, and give you my dry ones. We have to get out of here before he wakes up." Helping Shawn was the only thing keeping Gus rational at this point. Being thrown into necessary roles of authority made him careful and, most importantly, numb to the elements. Inside curdled terror a pinprick would expose.

Shawn's eyes remained closed, though now clenched, and he nodded wordlessly.

"I'm getting my sweatshirt. It's just over here." Gus carefully removed himself and snagged his black American Ninja sweatshirt from the clutches of a snag. He rarely saw this thing in his closet. It was ideal for Disneyland layering, and he was seriously glad he'd been wearing it. Not too wet. Both sleeves were saturated, but the shirt itself was mainly dry.

"Here." Shawn jumped at the sound, probably startled back into full consciousness.

"Sorry. It's okay... Here." Gus glanced over at where he'd heard the man crash into a shrub. His heart had nearly exploded at the sound while Shawn lay helpless in the dark. Gus could see the outline of a person lying there in the shadows. Maybe not a person. "Person" was far too kind a label to place on this guy. What would happen when he woke up? Would he be of sound mind after... that? Gus had no wish to find out. He slid his arms underneath Shawn's back, scraping them in the slivery dirt under the weight, and then pushed his knees under his arms to help Shawn upright slowly.


°o° . °o° . °o° . °o° .°o° . °o° . °o° . °o°


Shaking with exhaustion, Shawn leaned with every deviation of this fingerprints gripping the gritty mud, while Gus peeled off his jacket, then worked off the button-up shirt. Shawn felt humiliated and helpless.

"You know... "Shawn grunted, as he weakly batted away Gus's attempt to peel up his tee shirt. "Times like... Mmmmhh…" He started over. "Times like... Araagh- Gu-us-s..." He pressed his hand against Gus's not-so-gentle touch. "Hey, Gus. Let me do it." Keeping his eyes fixed on his assailant across the way, Shawn reached down and pulled up the hem of his shirt." He looked back down when he heard Gus suck breath through his teeth. Blood ran in rivulets, smearing with the water as it blotted and wound down and around his trembling skin. Starting at the waistband, his jeans were a startling color of noir-crimson. In the dark, it looked like someone had Photoshopped the dark color in. He'd felt the wound rip open deeper in his lust for breath.

"Where are my socks, Shawn?"

"In my pocket."

"Why in your pocket?"

"You're supposed to give and them to me and say, 'Here you go.'"

"What?" Gus's concern twisted into puzzlement.

"Then I'd say, 'I want you to put those things away. Those things'll kill ya,' and then you'd pet my hair and call me a beautiful man." Actually, Shawn would have given anything to be laying in Danny Glover's arms right now, sirens wailing, George Harrison playing cheerfully over the concrete... Over the water... That... wouldn't be so... bad... Slowly, the trees fell down around him, and he was wrapped in a wave of matte white unconsciousness.

The sensation truncated almost immediately with a dull throbbing in his brain. He had to wake up. Wake up for Roger. Do it for Rog. For Gus... Gus, who was now holding him in his arms. Much like Danny Glover.

"Whaat."

"What 'whaat,' Shawn? Dude, stay with me here."

"They kep'... fallin' off," Shawn slurred.

"Just don't do that again. This guy's going to wake up soon!" Fingers crammed into his jeans pocket and pulled out the drenched sock parts. Shawn brought his hand in the air for a fist bump with the Guster-Glover. It was not returned. Ouch.

No, really... OUCH. Gus had pretty much shoved him back upright. Ooh... That felt wonky... He was suddenly overcome with how cold the air had become.

"G-gu-s-s-s. I'm c-c-old. R-r-really cold-d-d." Shawn felt his heartbeat jump then skip again and again. He wanted a warm bed now more than ever in his entire life. That said a lot for boy who would daydream in elementary school, at various intervals during the day, about building elaborate flying squirrels leading directly back home to the comfort of his bed. Even monkey bars. He could swing away as the teacher watched him helplessly in her high heels. High heels THAT WERE JABBING INTO THIS STOMACH!

"Sorry. This is gonna have to do for now. Your core conditions affect your body temperature more directly than your legs. We can see about those jeans after we get out of here." Gus was squatting next to him shirtless. He'd cinched his long-sleeved jersey around Shawn's middle, with 80's worthy tying job. Something soft pulled down over his face, promising warmth. He nestled his face in it, exhaling heavily into the fabric, attempting to capture the heat of his breath, but there was none. He paused, sniffing.

"D-downy?"

Gus pulled the sweatshirt over Shawn's shoulders and fed his arm through. "Dude. Snuggle." The Snuggle was good, thought Shawn. Very soft, indeed. Note to self: Buy some. No, steal Gus's Snuggle. If you live through tonight.

Shawn tried to push himself off the ground, but was surprised by his weakness. Gus grabbed his forearm and helped stabilize him as the blood drained from his head. Not enough blood, thought Shawn halfway. Halfway-standing, and halfway-thought. Halfway-thoughts were about all he could manage right now. He was accustomed to being the control-guy, but at this point he relinquished his position. As long as Gus knew Jules was in danger, he wouldn't do anything Shawn wouldn't do to protect Gus from this guy. Shawn hadn't forgotten the man's whispered threat against his best friend if they were to alert anyone of Shawn's condition or the man's presence in the theme park. Twisted bastard.

"Okay, Gus." He wasn't shaking as quite as badly. "Where are we going? Head hunter still or..." He trailed off, as they walked quickly through the thickly landscaped breeze.

"I'm glad you asked." Gus pulled out the decoder ring from a new location in his jeans, slipped it on his pinky finger, and, shirtless and shivering, cocked a half smile.