This is a canon-divergence of Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark. Because who doesn't want to whump-up the whumpiest episode?

Quote credits to Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark and Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing.

Prompt: Manhandled and hair grabbing


Shawn was no stranger to regret. He regretted the night he didn't go onto the pier, setting things into motion so he didn't kiss Abigail until after he knew Jules. He regretted eating the green slice of cheese in the Psych office's fridge that had left him bathroom-locked for almost a full day. He regretted one or two of the things he'd told his dad before he'd left town all those years ago. Not all of it, just one or two things.

And, right now, he was really regretting checking out that vehicle yard without any back up.

"How stupid can you be, letting him use a phone? The cops are probably on their way right now!"

Shawn held his hands up in the universal sign for 'don't shoot me' as the greasy-haired man, Rollins, berated his kinder partner. The fire from the bullet wound in Shawn's shoulder was a constant background noise as he watched his fate be decided while he was stuck laying on the floor with duct tape still holding him to the tipped-over chair.

Rollins pulled back the slide on his gun as he growled, "I'm putting an end to this."

Shawn's heart jolted as he saw the barrel of the gun pointing towards him, and he cringed away, knowing there wasn't anything he could do to stop the trigger from being pulled. A memory played in his last seconds.

"Shawn… I think that I-"

There was another regret. He wished he knew for sure how Jules would have ended that sentence.

*BANG*

Shawn jumped at the noise and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain as his heart hammered in his chest. His ears were ringing, his shoulder was burning, his blood was pulsing in his bruised throat…

There wasn't any new pain.

Shawn opened his eyes in confusion and immediately tried to scramble back, forgetting his ankles were still restrained to the chair's legs. The other man, the nicer man, the man who'd shot and strangled him, now had a bullet wound himself. And he was laying right in front of Shawn, his eyes growing dim as he clutched his stomach and painfully gasped for breath.

Shawn couldn't stop staring, even as he mentally screamed at himself to look away. He really didn't want the image of a man's dying breath to be seared into his memory banks like everything else.

"You! Kid! Get up."

Shawn's hair was grabbed and he yelped as he was pulled up, his scalp erupting in pain. He couldn't stop himself as he gritted out, "Really? The hair?!"

The chair rocked slightly as it settled back onto its legs and Rollins let go with a growl as he stalked off to rummage through the cabinets. Shawn breathed through the pain in his head and shoulder as he waited out the blood rush from the sudden movement. The world spun longer than necessary, much to his annoyance, and he groaned when he remembered the knock to his head from a few hours ago.

A concussion was the last thing he needed to be dealing with right now. It was right up there with blood loss, another Home Alone sequel, and paperwork.

Shawn pushed away the thoughts of terrible things and focused on thinking of a plan. He needed to stall; Jules had heard his message, hopefully Lassie or his dad would figure out what it meant. He just had to make sure he was still in the garage when they made it back.

His eyes seemed to gravitate towards the body on the floor as he told Rollins, "He wasn't lying, you know. I really did just call my girl."

"My partner's an idiot, not me," Rollins said as he came back into view, carrying a long length of rope. "You were smart enough to get out of the trunk, there's no way you'd waste a phone call just to say goodbye. Now, be smart again and do what I tell you, otherwise you'll end up on the floor next to him."

"Sure, I can do what you say," Shawn said quickly, eyeing the gun still in Rollins' hand. "Are we talking Simon Says, or Mother May I, or Truth or Dare? Because, I'll be honest, I always go for Dare, and-"

"First off, shut the hell up," Rollins growled. Shawn closed his mouth with a nervous swallow as the gun aimed back at him. His shoulder spiked with another lance of pain, as if reminding him why being shot was a very bad idea.

"Hands out, now," Rollins ordered as he gripped the end of the rope and let most of it fall to the floor. Shawn held his hands out without any fuss, keeping his elbows close to his body. If he could get close enough to the gun…

Rollins watched Shawn carefully as he tucked the gun into the back of his pants and walked towards him, forming a loop in the rope. Shawn waited until Rollins was reaching out for one of his hands before making his move, grabbing the bad guy's arm and pulling him forward while reaching with his free hand to scramble for the grip of the gun.

Rollins cursed as Shawn's fingers brushed against the pistol grip, and he pushed Shawn back, tipping the chair. Shawn felt a hand wrap around his wrist as he fell backwards and his shoulder hit the ground. Stars erupted across his vision and hot, white fire flared through his bullet wound, spiking up and down his arm and side.

By the time he was able to think again, Rollins was kneeling on his chest, and rope was pulling tight around each of his wrists. Rollins leaned more of his weight down as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocketknife. Shawn gasped for breath as the pressure on his chest grew, but Rollins didn't seem to notice the frantic noises as he glared down and yelled, "That was stupid!"

Shawn felt spit shower his face as Rollins ranted, "The only reason you're still alive is to be a hostage. If you try another stunt like that, then I'll blow your brains out and take my chances on my own." He shoved the gun under Shawn's chin, forcing him to tip his head up. "You got it?"

Shawn answered through gritted teeth. "Yeah, I got it."

How much longer did he need to stall?

Rollins snarled and flipped the knife open before quickly cutting the duct tape around Shawn's torso and ankles. He stood up and Shawn could finally take a full breath, his aching chest throbbing as he pulled oxygen back into his lungs. Rollins didn't give him any time to recover as he grabbed the length of rope still trailing from Shawn's restrained hands and roughly pulled it tight. Shawn's arms jerked forward, and he cried out as pain spiked in his shoulder at the movement.

Rollins impatiently tugged the rope and snapped out, "Get up!"

Shawn kicked and wriggled quickly, trying to stand, but he couldn't struggle out of the chair while his hands were being forced out uselessly in front of him. Rollins growled and dropped the rope, stalking forward as he reached for Shawn's hair again.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Shawn rolled off of the fallen chair, using his bound hands to quickly and painfully push himself to standing. The room spun and his stomach lurched as he tried to focus on Rollins. "See, no need to get all handsy. I just needed my hands, yeah?"

He stopped and thought for a second, sure that there'd been a joke in there somewhere. Rollins was talking again and Shawn realized he should probably pay more attention to the bad guy and less attention to words being weird.

"-too much time already, now let's go!" Rollins grabbed the rope and towed him out of the garage; Shawn tried to drag his feet as he stumbled at the end of the lead, buying as much time as he could without being obvious about it. Rollins pulled him towards an old pickup truck and Shawn scanned it quickly, storing the information in case he needed it later: Red Ford F150, California plates, 4BG0236. His hope rose as he realized there wasn't a trunk to be thrown into this time; maybe the bad guy would be stupid enough to put him in the pickup bed.

He glanced at the knots holding his wrists together and recognized them from one of his dad's lessons about ropes; the memory flashed by and he checked the knots again, sure that he could untie them. He just needed a few minutes without a gun pointing at him.

Shawn unconsciously changed his path to walk towards the back of the truck, but he was brought up short by his arms being yanked in the other direction. He hissed at the spike of pain and looked over into Rollin's frustrated face, flinching back as the bad guy pulled him forward. Rollins snarled at him, "How stupid do you think I am? Putting you in the back where you can get anyone's attention?"

"Well, the movie is Dumb and Dumber, not Dumb and Smarter," Shawn said without thinking. He internally winced as he watched for the inevitable punch, and Rollin's didn't disappoint as his fist connected solidly with Shawn's cheekbone. Shawn's head snapped to the side and he fell back on the truck as a bruising heat bloomed across his face. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to make the world refocus as he was roughly dragged to the front of the truck.

"Enough with the smart-ass mouth," Rollins ordered as he opened the passenger door. "I will not hesitate to gag you!"

Shawn worked hard to stay quiet and not point out how, by not immediately gagging him now, Rollins was already hesitating to do it. All of his focus was on keeping the words from leaving his mouth as he was pushed towards the open door, and he didn't see the kick coming at the back of his knees.

He fell as he was shoved forward into the truck, and he threw his hands out, trying to catch himself as his chest hit the seat and his knees hit the metal frame of the door. He started to push himself back up, but a hand pressed between his shoulder blades, holding him down. "Get your feet in."

Shawn swallowed back a curse; the position Rollins was putting him in would keep him out of sight from any passerbys while also keeping him close enough to easily shoot if he tried anything. He rotated his body around his pinned down chest and knelt on the floor of the truck, his feet wedged tightly into the corners of the footwell, his head laying on the seat cushion, his arms pressing into the backrest.

"Damnit, hurry up! Hands behind your head," Rollins snapped as he grabbed the end of the rope. Shawn bit back another curse; he'd been hoping to find a way to work on the knots while Rollins was focused on driving. He put his hands behind his head as slowly as he dared, hoping the extra few seconds would be enough for the calvary to arrive.

Rollins didn't wait for him to finish before yanking the rope down, forcing Shawn's hands further back. Shawn buried his face in the cushion and tried not to whimper as his arms pulled tight and his bullet wound flared again. Whatever jerk had said bullet wounds eventually go numb had clearly been lying out of their ass.

He felt the rope circle around his ankles, forcing them together, and his hands were pulled back even further, straining his muscles and joints. Hot pain continued to grow through his injured shoulder and he kept his face hidden, using the seat to press back the tears that were traitorously building up under his eyelids.

Spencers didn't cry. He wasn't about to start now in front of a bad guy.

A memory from his childhood rose unbidden through his thoughts.

"Pain can be a tool; it tells you when something's wrong in your body, it tells you when you're pushing yourself too far, and it can be a great motivator to get out of a situation. But it's also a shackle. If you don't learn how to work through it, how to master it, then it will just master you. Now, breathe and focus. Let yourself feel the pain, acknowledge it, and then move past it."

Shawn wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that his dad lecturing him through a sprained wrist was actually comforting now as he breathed through the waves of pain. He heard Rollins walk away and allowed himself a minute to focus on the feelings running through his shoulder; the stinging spikes of agony dancing over the constant searing fire, all building off of a deep gnawing ache running through the entire wound. He took another breath and acknowledged each layer of pain before pushing it away.

Indiana Jones had fought off Nazis with a shot shoulder, after all… It was just a flesh wound. He could work through it. His thoughts cleared and he focused on figuring out what his next move was. There weren't many more options left for stalling.

The tension on the rope holding his hands at the base of his neck stayed the same even without Rollins holding it, confirming Shawn's assumption that his wrists and ankles were tied together. He braced himself for another jolt of pain as he wiggled slightly, checking if he could move; frustration welled up when he realized there was almost no give to the rope. If he could sit up on his knees, he might have enough slack to work his arms back over his head, but Rollins probably wouldn't leave him alone for that long. It wasn't going to be easy to get out on his own.

Where was his dad? What was taking him so long?

Rollins' footsteps came back and Shawn quickly stilled his movements. The more helpless the bad guy thought he was, the more likely he was to underestimate him; Shawn would take any advantage he could get at this point.

The footsteps stopped and he turned his head to look at Rollins, taking in the dark, rough bundle of cloth in his hands. Rollins didn't say anything, he just shook open the scratchy blanket and threw it into the truck, tugging on the edges until Shawn was completely covered. A primal fear tried to claw its way through Shawn's throat as his face was covered, his vision was obscured, and his breath blew back at him.

He wasn't claustrophobic; he'd seen Gus go through panic attacks from small spaces, and he knew he didn't have that. But he couldn't move, and he couldn't see, and it was already getting warm under the blanket, and the air was already feeling stuffy, and there was a bad guy climbing into the truck next to him…

Shawn closed his eyes and took several controlled breaths, calming himself down so he could focus and think as the truck began to move.

"When you're deprived of one of your five senses, the other four compensate by becoming sharper."

Shawn sighed at his dad's voice filtering through his memory again. He was already listening to everything, there was plenty of pain to feel, all he could smell was the moldy blanket, and he didn't think taste would help any in this situation. That wasn't a lesson he needed to focus on.

"If a bad guy grabs you, never let them move you to a second location. Fight like hell if they try to take you somewhere else."

Shawn growled under his breath; he'd tried getting out, he'd tried stalling, he'd tried every trick in the book that wouldn't get him immediately shot… and he was still trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey, being taken to who knows where. And he was sure his dad would have some choice words about all of that once he was finally out.

"If you find yourself in a hostage situation, find a way to humanize yourself to the bad guy. Find things you have in common, empathize with them, tell them about your life… Anything that will remind them you're a person and not just a means to an end. Anything that will make them hesitate to pull the trigger."

Shawn chewed his lip as the lesson faded back into his memory; he'd already managed to connect with Longmore, and it had earned him a phone call and the chance to send a message. He hadn't bothered trying it with Rollins yet, Longmore was obviously the easier target. But now Longmore was dead…

Shawn let out another breath and remembered back, looking for any clues that would tell him how he could appeal to Rollins' good side. Or, at least, his less angry side.

He scanned the pictures that hung on the wall of the garage: Longmore with his sniper rifle, old receipts, pictures of different vehicles, someone on a backhoe… No family, no selfies, no hobbies to display. Unless selling cars counted as a hobby.

A dark voice in his memory broke his concentration, "What do you care? You'll be dead."

Shawn shook away the voice and remembered further back, when he had first woken up in the garage. He focused on Rollins as he argued with Longmore, looking for any details to show who he was. Mechanic uniform, well-used boots, a gun tucked in-

"One stupid move, and I got more than enough plastic bags for your body parts."

Shawn gritted his teeth and pressed his forehead into the seat, trying to force his memories to work with him. His probably-a-concussion really wasn't helping matters.

He stayed in the present and reviewed what he knew, hoping it would be enough to come up with a plan. Rollins didn't have any pictures of other people, he hadn't mentioned anyone, he didn't think twice before running away; he didn't have anyone he cared about. Rollins was willing to risk robbing an armored truck, and sold receipts were the only things he'd hung on the wall in pride; he cared about money and not much else. Rollins was also convinced he was the smartest man in the room, which was probably why he had partnered with Longmore. Besides the obvious mechanical skills.

Shawn had just cost him a lot of money…

… which meant he needed to think of how he could be useful in getting money a different way. Preferably without resorting to the organ black market.

He needed more information.

"So… Where are we going?" Shawn asked. "I know Mexico is nice and all, but do you think they'll actually believe you if you say I was just a box of chocolates you picked up at a farmer's market?"

"Shut up," Rollins said, continuing his trend of being utterly unhelpful.

"Are you sure?" Shawn asked, hoping to at least get an idea of if they were going to be heading north or south. "Because I know all of the best gas stations to stop at. Like, there's one right before McKittrick that has all of the fancy oreo flavors."

"Let me make myself clear," Rollins said as Shawn felt something press into his side. Something small and hard and the exact size of a gun barrel. "Shut up, or I'll make you shut up."

"Sure, fine, I can shut up…" Shawn relented. He chewed his lip and forced the words to be quiet while he thought of a new plan. He could annoy the man into stopping to gag him, which could buy Lassie time to catch up. But being gagged wasn't exactly high up on his bucket list, and it seemed like a coin flip on whether or not Rollins would just shoot him instead. He could do what Rollins wanted and not talk… Nope, he couldn't do that. Which left him with option C.

"Ok, I know I said I'd be quiet… but I have to pee. Is there a rest stop nearby? Or we could just pull over, I'm not shy."

"Seriously?!" Rollins growled out.

Shawn grinned in success as he laid it on thicker. "Yeah, man. Your partner kidnapped me before the sun was even up, and it's not like I decided to take a leak while running for my life in the woods, ya know?"

"If you pee in here, I will shoot you so many times, they won't be able to identify your body."

"Yeah, I get that," Shawn agreed, wondering how far to push it, "but then you still have to clean it up. And this seems like a nice- this seems like a truck. I'd really hate to make a mess in here."

Rollins groaned and Shawn couldn't help but grin wider at the sound, the victory making the pain more bearable. He knew he'd won. Even tied up, beat up, and tucked out of sight, he could still talk his way into a better situation.

Rollins finally spoke. "I'm not pulling over until we're away from the cops. You'd better hold it if you know what's good for you."

"Fine, but if I get a UTI, I'm blaming you," Shawn answered, carefully keeping his relief out of his voice. He'd bought himself another opening, now he just had to wait. He shifted, trying to get more comfortable on his knees and lessen the strain on his shoulders, but a hand smacked his head through the blanket, stopping his movement.

"Don't try any funny business, just stay still."

"Staying still is almost as bad as not talking…" Shawn grumbled to himself. He waited a few minutes before slowly shifting his hands over, hoping to ease the painful pull on his bullet wound. All the movement did was earn him another smack to the back of the head. He gritted his teeth; the blanket softened the blow, but it still hit almost right on top of the throbbing part of his skull where Rollins had knocked him out with a phone.

He waited for the throbbing headache to die down slightly before figuring out what he needed to do next. Hopefully, he'd be able to run or fight off Rollins when they pulled over, but considering his bad luck all day, he needed a plan B. Or more like a plan F by this point.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Rollins cursing and the engine growing louder as they sped up. Hope bubbled in Shawn's chest; there was only one reason for the bad guy to be reacting like that. The calvary was here.

Shawn kept his voice low, as he cheered to himself, "Go team!"

The truck swerved and Shawn rolled with it, unable to brace himself with his bound hands and feet. The burst of pain from his shoulder reminded him that he was still far from safe, and he tried to distract himself by imagining what was going on outside of the dark cloth he was staring at.

He knew it was impossible, Jules had clearly been in the station when he'd called, but the image of the Blueberry cruising alongside Lassie's new Crown Vic in a combined rescue was too epic of a shot to not picture in his head.

The truck swerved again in the opposite direction and Shawn regained his balance as he moved the imaginary cars up in his mind, positioning them on either side of the truck to box Rollins in and force him to slow down. He suddenly realized if his team succeeded in stopping Rollins, then the bad guy was going to make good on his promise of using Shawn as a hostage. He needed to get free from the rope.

Shawn stayed quiet and waited for the next swerve to sit up slightly, twisting his back and pulling against his good shoulder as he tried to duck his head under his elbow. He just needed his hands in front of him so he could work on the knot. It wouldn't take long once he could get his teeth into the rope…

"What the hell," Rollins snarled and something hard hit Shawn's shot shoulder. Fire burst through his body at the hit and Shawn cried out as he collapsed back onto the seat, his hands still stuck behind his head. He tried to catch his breath as cold sweat broke out over his body following another wave of pain. For being 'just a flesh wound', having a shot shoulder really, really hurt.

*BANG* *BANGBANG* *BANGBANGBANG*

Shawn yelped at the loud noises and tried to press his arms over his ears as the gun went off right above him. His head pounded like he had his own personal marching band in his skull and all he could hear was a loud ringing as he desperately tried to listen for any hint of what was happening. In his head, it had been the Blueberry on that side of the truck, but that meant Jules and Gus were being shot at, and that wasn't ok at all. Shawn quickly replaced the visual of the little blue car with a more neutral black and white police car. A bullet-proof police car with an expert driver who could bend bullets trajectories with their brain.

An image of Gus clutching his stomach and gasping wetly for breath flashed through his mind and Shawn quickly forced himself to think about something else. There had been six shots fired at the mutant-driver's car, one shot fired into Longmore. That left eight more bullets in the Beretta's magazine, according to Lassie's rant about 'criminally inaccurate ammo capacities' in movies.

Shawn wasn't sure how knowing the number of shots Rollins had left would be useful, but it was at least something safer to focus on than worrying about his friends. He took comfort in the fact that he hadn't heard any sounds of a car crash; though with the ringing in his ears, he knew that wasn't a guarantee that it hadn't happened.

He ignored the pessimistic thought and decided the mutant had just barely deflected the last bullet and it had hit their tire, leading to a frustrating and comedic end to their part of the chase. That only left Lassie's car on the driver's side, and Shawn knew his dad well enough to know that he would have insisted on riding along.

*BANGBANGBANG*

The gunshots were further away this time, as though being shot out of the driver's window instead of right over his head. Which meant, instead of a theoretical Jules and Gus, it was a definite Lassie and his dad being shot at. Because there was no way in hell Lassie would let anyone else drive into oncoming traffic.

The pain in his shoulder seemed more distant as Shawn sat up again and pulled against the rope while wiggling his elbow over his head. Best case scenario, he'd be able to grab the gun; worst case scenario, he'd be a good distraction to keep his dad from being shot.

*BANGBANG*

Shawn risked sitting up further and pulled against his good shoulder, lifting his elbow as far as he could. He felt his ears fold forward as his arm just barely managed to squeeze over his head, but his quick burst of victory was ruined by the blanket sliding off of him, revealing his new freedom to a surprised and angry Rollins.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Rollins turned the steering wheel sharply and the sound of squealing tires came through the open window as he quickly straightened the truck out again and moved the gun from his left hand to his right. Shawn froze, realizing too late that he'd trapped his hands on the wrong side of his body with the taut rope rubbing against the left side of his neck.

His mouth started moving without him consciously choosing to talk. "Wait, wait, wait. Just think about this! You don't want to shoot me, you need a hostage right? And you don't want to shoot them, they're just a couple of old guys in a new car. You saw them, at the gas station, do you really think they're a threat? You just need to-"

Shawn's babbling was cut off by the bark of a gun from outside the truck and the driver-side mirror shattering. Rollins ducked down before snarling and lashing out. Shawn had only a second to appreciate the fact that the butt of the gun was heading straight towards him instead of the barrel before stars burst behind his eyes and pain burst through the back of his head. He collapsed again, blinking heavily as he fought to stay conscious and aware of the fight.

Details came through in flashes as he laid stunned on the seat. More gunfire from inside the truck and outside. More squealing tires and hard swerves. A final turn that went further than any others and a loud thunk under the truck. Shawn's seat seemed to throw him in the air before catching him again and the spike of pain tearing through his shoulder sent him the rest of the way into unconsciousness.

(To be continued)