Quote credits to Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark and a blink-and-you'll-miss-it from Shawn Rescues Darth Vader

Prompt: Failed escape


Consciousness came back to Shawn gradually; the first thing he was aware of was the movement. Something vibrated and rattled under his chest, something pulled slightly at his wrists, something rubbed against his neck. He groaned quietly and tried to move into a more comfortable position, but pain rushed in as his shoulder burned, his muscles cramped, and something sharp spiked through his brain. He choked back a sob as he kept himself still and tried to breathe through the cacophony of sensations trying to overwhelm him.

"So, you're not dead after all. Too bad... Do you know how stupid that little stunt was?"

Right, there was a reason everything hurt. Shakes ran through Shawn's body as he tried to think past the pain and focus on his situation. He was still tied up in the truck, but his hands were being pulled over one shoulder now instead of over his head. He still had a blanket on top of him, but it wasn't tucked in tight anymore. And there was still a bad guy next to him. There wasn't any 'but' after that; Rollins was still angry, he was still driving, and he still had Shawn in his clutches.

A hawk spread its wings and flew away, its talons clutched around a squirrel's broken body that was still struggling frantically to get free, even as the height grew too dangerous to drop.

Shawn pushed the useless memory away as he tried to remember which muscles he needed to use to talk. "Wha' happ'nd?" His tongue felt too large in his mouth, and he focused to make it behave properly as he tried again, still slurring slightly, "What happened?"

"What happened is that you nearly made me crash, but I fixed it and now the cops are off our tail," Rollins growled.

"They crashed?" Shawn asked, focusing on two-word sentences until his brain stopped twirling like a figure skater.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Yes. Yes, he would like to know. That really didn't seem like a fair answer. The car bounced slightly, and nausea rolled in Shawn's gut as more sharp things spiked through his head and his shoulder. How bad would it be if he puked in the truck?

"You didn't piss yourself while you were napping, did you?"

Shawn scrunched his eyebrows together as he tried to figure out what Rollins was talking about before a fuzzy memory reminded him of his next chance to escape. He swallowed and tried to push down the growing turmoil in his stomach as he answered, "Nope." He took a deep breath and braced himself for a four-word sentence. "Need t' puke too."

He'd take three and a half words. That was fine.

"Don't you dare. I will shove you out of this car and make your body look like Swiss cheese if you even think about it."

Bile burned the back of his throat and Shawn tried to not think about cheese as everything in his stomach tried to come back up.

The vendor placed their orders on top of the cart. "So, that's three chili cheese dogs, two orders of fries, and one hotdog, plain with only onions."

"You know that's right."

Shawn groaned at his memory being a jerk.

"Son of a bitch." The truck turned quickly, and tires squealed before the ride grew bumpier, jostling all of Shawn's injuries. The pain added to the nausea in a swirling mix of unpleasantness that just needed to get out. And there was only one way that was going to happen.

"Hold it, hold it, hold it," Rollins chanted as the truck jerked to a stop and a door slammed closed. Shawn knew he couldn't hold it, but the memory of a gun barrel flashing and a bullet traveling towards him gave him the motivation to keep trying.

The door next to him opened and the blanket was yanked off of him, bringing a cool breeze in its wake that brushed by his sweaty face and helped stave off the inevitable. Rollins bent down and Shawn felt something pulling around his ankles; the tension on his arms suddenly released and he immediately pulled them forward, relieving some of the pressure on his hurt shoulder.

A hand grabbed his hair and pulled, forcing him to move as Rollins ordered, "Get out before you make a mess."

Shawn scrambled out of the car, trying to follow the instructions as his numb legs refused to hold his weight. His scalp was yanked forward and he fell on all fours, his stomach heaving as he finally lost his fight against the nausea.

He panted for breath when he was done, his skull feeling like it was being squeezed by a vice as his stomach finally settled. He spat out the last bit of bile before shuffling over to the side so his body wasn't straddling the mess. His shoulder protested having to hold any of his weight, but he ignored it as he celebrated the fact that puking seemed to have at least cleared his mind.

Rollins didn't give him any time to recover as he said, "Great, you're done. Get up."

Shawn thought about his precious hair being grabbed again and started moving immediately to push himself painfully back to standing. Sunlight pierced through his eyes, and he squinted as Rollins grabbed the trailing end of the rope and started walking away from the truck. Shawn tried to follow as he stumbled across the ground that kept trying to spin away.

Yep, he was definitely concussed.

"Do you have any idea how bad it is for you to keep getting your head hit like this?" Gus grumbled as he shoved an ice pack into Shawn's hands.

"It's fine, man. I'm like the Hulk; I'm invincible!"

"Invincible like Boris, maybe."

And, apparently, this concussion was making his memory go on the fritz. Which just wasn't convenient at all.

Shawn tried to focus on what was going on as he was led to the edge of a forest. Rollins was mad, they were walking away from the truck, they were moving even further out of sight from anyone who might pass by… Dread settled in Shawn's gut, filling the space left by the retreating nausea. He needed to figure out a plan, and fast, before Rollins decided they'd traveled far enough to shoot him.

He quickly reviewed his options; most of his plans usually boiled down to fight, run, or talk. He tripped as the world tried to buck him off and barely caught himself in time; he quickly crossed 'run' off of his list. The gun in Rollins' hand made 'fight' seem like a bad idea, which meant…

Rollins stopped and turned around, bringing the gun up and aiming it straight at Shawn's heart. Words started spilling from Shawn's mouth as he stared down the dark barrel. "Wait, wait, you don't want to do this!"

"No, I really think I do," Rollins said as he cocked the gun with a dark smirk. Shawn's brain frantically reminded him that there were still three bullets left, though he really didn't know how that was supposed to help him. All it would take was one.

Was there one bullet left?

Scattered memories played of the sounds of gunfire, both from outside the truck and in. Did Rollins shoot two or three times?

Rollins' finger tightened on the trigger and all thoughts of bullet counts scattered from Shawn's mind as he blurted out, "I know how to get you more money!"

Rollins paused before narrowing his eyes. "You really think I'm going to believe that?"

"You wanna know why your partner trusted me?" Shawn asked, speaking quickly with only a slight slur as a stick figure of a plan started to form. "It's because I'm psychic. I have abilities that you can use to get more money than you ever would've from that armored truck."

"Oh, come on. Psychic? Really?"

"Yeah, really." Shawn scanned Rollins quickly and added up everything he knew about the bad guy. "I had visions about your partner. His time in combat as a sniper. His girl with the red hair, Maureen. I've had visions about you too."

A finger tightening on the trigger without hesitation, "It's the same as it was in the joint.", sold receipts on the wall, a beat-up gas station and car shop, a uniform shirt that fit, a yellow car that was too nice for its surroundings, an armored truck.

"You were in jail for a long time, and you didn't want to go back in. You tried, applying for job after job, but cons don't get hired, do they? Especially not cons with a violent record. So, you open up your own shop, scrape by with oil changes and selling cars you've restored from the junkyard. But it's not enough, you deserve more."

Rollins' face had slowly morphed from hard skepticism to faint shock; a familiar shift that Shawn would never tire of seeing. The next part was a shot in the dark, which seemed ironic, all things considered, but he needed to bring it home. And the pieces fit.

"You found someone who'd give you money, didn't you? Fund the lifestyle you deserved…" Rollins narrowed his eyes and Shawn's heart skipped a beat. Something wasn't right.

"What if I didn't make it back in time, huh? After having to go pick up your car."

"My idiot partner here screwed up big time. But that's par for the course."

"No, it wasn't you, was it?" Shawn quickly corrected himself. "Longmore took the money. But he didn't think about paying it back. He just thought about the sweet ride he could afford, right?" The loosening of Rollins' eyes told him he was back on track. "The kind of guy who'll loan out money to ex-cons isn't the kind of guy you want to cross. So, you had to clean up your partner's mess; just like always. That's why the armored truck."

Rollins seemed to be warring with himself as he glanced around and flexed his fingers on the grip of the gun. "How did you know that?"

"I told you," Shawn lifted his bound hands up to tap at his pounding head, "psychic."

"Psychics aren't real," Rollins argued halfheartedly.

Shawn watched the gun carefully as he made his play. "But what if they were real? Spirits tell me all sorts of things, man. It's not just people's pasts. I've been communing with the Santa Barbara spirits for years, there's so much I could tell you. You know the National Savings Bank on Playa Rose street?" Shawn snorted quietly; no matter how many times he heard it, the street name was still amusing…

"I just want you to know that, no matter what happens, I care about you, and I appreciate you, and, well… I love you, Shawn," Gus said as he squeezed Shawn tight during a bank hostage situation.

All things considered, Gus' words weren't the worst last memory to have before being shot. Shawn shook his head and quickly brought himself back on track. "I know the code to get in after hours without setting off the alarm, I know a password to get into the computers, and I know where the safety deposit master key is."

Rollins rolled his eyes. "You need two keys to get into a safety deposit box, you idiot."

"Oh, come on, you can hotwire a car, but you can't pick a lock?"

"Those are two completely different things!"

Shawn was almost proud of the completely baffled look on Rollins face, except for the gun muzzle still pointed squarely at his chest.

Rollins blinked and thought for a moment before recovering enough to ask, "Why do you think I'd believe you? You're probably lying to save your sorry skin."

"Well, one, you haven't shot me yet," Shawn said before he could stop himself. He quickly added, "Which clearly means you at least partially believe me. And if I was going to lie, wouldn't I come up with something better than 'psychic'?"

Rollins huffed and shook his head before looking around again, as if the answer to what he needed was hiding behind the trees. He finally looked back at Shawn with a glint of greed and desperation in his eyes as he raised the gun slightly, aiming between Shawn's eyes. "If you cross me, then I'll make sure you're still alive when I start to bury your body parts. Got it?"

Shawn swallowed nervously and nodded. All of the different ways Rollins could say 'I'll kill you' would almost be amusing if they weren't directed at him.

Rollins stared at him for a second longer before finally lowering his gun and waving it to the side, indicating the surrounding woods. "Well…? You said you had to pee, didn't you?"


Shawn couldn't help but scan the surrounding area and look for a way to escape as he was led back to the truck. He knew he'd just bartered for his safety, and it was best to stay compliant, but he really, really didn't want to get back in the truck with Rollins. And he really, really just wanted the day to be done already.

"Look, Shawn. Sometimes you'll see an opportunity, but you have to ask yourself if it's the right opportunity. If you always take the first chance you see, then you might miss a better chance further down the line. Like having to take Sara to the dance instead of Becky."

Shawn sighed as he stared at the trees he could get lost in. The forest was a Sara, it was totally a Sara… he just really wanted it to be a Becky. Or a Jules. Jules with a gun and handcuffs. That would be nice…

"Alright," Rollins said as he opened the truck door. "Get back in."

"Ok, sure. But, can I sit this time? You can still do the whole kinky rope thing…" Shawn made a face at himself; why did he have to say it like that? "...and I promise to be the best hostage you've ever had. I won't even touch the radio."

"How many times have you tried to escape already?" Rollins asked. He pointed at the footwell and snapped out, "Back in. Before I shove you in."

"Fine, but don't blame me when I get blood all over your truck…" Shawn muttered as he stepped forward.

"Wait." Rollins looked at his cloth covered seats before glancing at Shawn's shoulder before looking back at the seat. Shawn glanced down and saw that the wound must have broken back open at some point; the blood spot on his shirt had grown past the duct tape bandage. If it could even be called a bandage when it was on the outside of his shirt and not actually applying any pressure.

Rollins seemed to make up his mind and pulled on the rope, prompting Shawn to follow him as he walked to stand next to the pick-up bed. He pointed at the ground and said, "You wanted to sit? Sit."

Shawn hesitated before lowering himself down, half-falling as the world tilted at the exact wrong time. He ended up sitting with his legs out in front of him, leaning into the side of the truck as he panted for breath. Rollins stepped close and the rope around Shawn's wrists suddenly tightened, pulling his hands up and over his head.

"Oh, come on, really?" Shawn complained as his shoulder burned. A memory flashed by of the truck, highlighting a circular anchor point on the truck bed that was the perfect size for a rope to go through. Which seemed awfully convenient. How many times did Longmore bring a stray hostage home?

Rollins checked his knot and glared down to growl, "Don't even try to move, or I'll shoot out your kneecap."

"You know, you could have just used your words without the rope. I told you I could be a good hostage. I'm working with you now, I'm like…" Shawn made a face of disgust, "dang, I think I'm Harry Ellis."

Rollins rolled his eyes and stalked to the front of the truck to rummage through the glove box. He let out a growled curse and Shawn decided to keep distracting himself the best way he knew how.

"You know, I've actually been a hostage before. A few times, actually. Though one of them barely lasted a couple of seconds, so I don't really count it. I actually got a hostage-taker free of all charges once. True story. Turns out the real bad guy was actually holding his wife hostage to make him take hostages. Well, the hostage thing wasn't really planned… I don't suppose you have a wife being held hostage?"

"Do you just not understand the concept of 'shut up'?" Rollins asked in exasperation as he turned around with a first-aid kit in his hand.

"Honestly? No," Shawn answered truthfully as he stared at the kit. "So, you had that the whole time, and you went with a dirty rag and duct tape?"

"My partner went with the rag and duct tape, I honestly didn't care if you bled out."

Shawn watched Rollins violently unzip the kit and pull out several items, throwing them on the ground. "You're really inspiring confidence, you know that?"

Rollins growled and dropped the kit to step over Shawn's legs and lean down, looming right in his face. "This truck is the only thing I got right now. Because of you. I'm not going to have you messing it up."

He reached down to start unbuttoning Shawn's shirt and Shawn tried to scramble back, yelping slightly as he accidentally knocked his shoulder into the truck. "Wait, wait, I thought we agreed you didn't need to get handsy."

"Do you want me to bandage you up or not?"

"Is that a multiple choice question?"

Rollins stopped and gave Shawn a bewildered look before pulling back the shirt so the wound was exposed. Shawn looked up and focused on not giving in to his curiosity. He wasn't squeamish -almost the opposite in fact- but there was a difference between seeing a dead guy's entrails spread out on the ground, versus seeing his blood that was flowing from a hole in his shoulder.

He flinched as Rollins poked at him, and his whimpers turned into a yelp when the fingers found a particularly painful spot. Rollins leaned over to grab a bandage as he rolled his eyes. "Stop being a baby, it's fine. My partner wasn't good at much, but he knew how to shoot. It's just a flesh wound."

"You know, I'm not sure you two know what a flesh-" Shawn's words cut off with a wordless yell as Rollins pressed down with the bandage and hot pain flared and spread from the spot. Rollins pushed harder and the pain impossibly grew as Shawn cried out even louder and scrambled to get away.

"Would you shut up?!" Rollins snarled frantically as he quickly pressed the edges of the bandage down. "Do you want people to hear us?"

"Yes. Clearly, I want people to hear us, because I've been kidnapped," Shawn yelled, his voice breaking on the last word.

Rollins growled and stood up straight to stalk back to the truck, leaving Shawn panting and shaking with a new white patch of cloth covering the front of his shoulder. Rollins came back carrying the blanket, and he balled up one of the corners before holding it up to Shawn's face. "Bite, or I find another use for the duct tape."

Shawn looked at the old blanket and his stomach turned when he remembered the moldy smell. He didn't bother trying to hide the indignant anger from his voice when he snapped out, "That thing is disgusting. Seriously, have you ever even thought about washing it?"

Rollins shrugged. "Fine, duct tape it is."

"Wait, wait… Ugh…" Shawn made sure to exaggerate his look and sounds of disgust as he bit into the bundle of cloth. He didn't have to fake it once the taste hit him; it was even worse than he'd imagined. And he had a good imagination.

"Yeah, yeah, suck it up," Rollins grumbled as he lifted the back of Shawn's shirt and pushed at him, forcing Shawn to lean forward and strain his arms. His shoulder was searing, even before Rollins touched it again, and the second bandage was even worse than the first.

Gray edged Shawn's vision as he yelled into the blanket, and he decided 'fire' was too generous of a word to describe the agony spiking through his shoulder and spreading through his side and arm. He was going to find whatever idiot had said bullet wounds go numb, and he was going to shoot them. See how they liked it.

"It's done, quit your whining. It's your own damn fault you got shot."

"Deep breaths, Shawn. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Don't sweat, feel your heart. You're in control of your body and your responses. Breathe."

Shawn ignored the bad guy's words and focused on his dad's, feeling his heart pounding in his chest and breathing in and out through his nose, smelling blood and mildew with each breath. The pain became more manageable as he calmed himself down, and he opened his eyes to watch Rollins carefully before spitting out the gross blanket.

Rollins sneered at the look and started to pick up his supplies. "You're welcome."

Shawn took a breath through his nose and out his mouth as he forced himself to not point out that Rollins hadn't used anything to keep up the pressure, so the wound was still going to keep bleeding. Call him short sighted, but he didn't want the bad guy to hurt him again. Even in the name of first-aid.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" Rollins taunted in the silence.

It was petty, but Shawn was never one to back down from a challenge. His voice was tight as he spoke around pained pants. "You know, I never understood that phrase. Is the cat supposed to be biting your tongue and you can't talk because his cute little head is stuck in your mouth? Or is he supposed to have bitten your tongue off and walked off all proud of himself, and you have to wait for him to bring it back and leave it on your porch as a weird present where you're not sure if you're supposed to thank him or scold him? And why a cat? Why can't a dog get my tongue? Or a crow, or a dolphin? I'd totally let a dolphin-"

"Ok, that's enough," Rollins snapped out, looking like he was regretting every decision he'd ever made in his entire life.

"You started it," Shawn pointed out before immediately flinching back as Rollins took a step towards him.

Rollins smirked at the movement. "Just remember who's in charge here."

Shawn looked up at the ropes holding his hands over his head and muttered, "Clearly that was in question…" He spoke louder as he asked, "So, what do you prefer? 'Boss', or 'El Jefe', or 'El Capitan'... I'm not saying 'Oh Captain, my captain', just so you know."

"Do you even realize you're still talking?" Rollins asked the general surrounding area as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I feel like that's a trick question," Shawn replied with a grin. His head was pounding and swirling from all of the hits it had taken, it was only fair to give the bad guy a headache back. "Let's ask a better question… what exactly is talking?"

Fear rushed through him as Rollins snarled and stalked over, and he unconsciously pulled at the rope, trying to get away. There was a very slight chance that he'd pushed it too far. He flinched as his hair was grabbed again, forcing him to stay still as the rough blanket was shoved against his lips.

Rollins' voice was deadly quiet as he said, "Talking is where sounds come out of your mouth, and I cram something in there to stop it. So, unless you want this," he pressed the blanket harder into Shawn's face, "to take up permanent residence in that motormouth of yours, then I suggest you Shut. It."

Shawn kept his mouth clenched shut as he nodded, his scalp stinging as Rollins' hand tightened around his hair.

"Good. Now keep that up until we're at the bank." Rollins let go of him and held up the blanket in warning. "Just one more word…"

He dropped the blanket and stood up, and Shawn collapsed into the side of the truck, his whole body shaking at the rush of adrenaline. He bit his lip as he felt words already starting to form before he'd even thought them. He closed his eyes as the rope started to move and took a deep breath, pushing the words back. He could be quiet, he'd been quiet in the past… Sometimes. Ok, almost never; he even talked to himself when he was alone. But it was better than being gagged, so he could do it…

His hands dropped down and he bit back a yelp at the flare of pain, unsure if that would count as a word. He saw a hand reaching for him and reacted without thinking, leaning back into the truck and using the extra leverage to push himself to standing before his hair could be grabbed again. Rollins looked almost disappointed as he dropped his hand and walked back to the front of the truck, pulling Shawn along with the rope. He pointed at the footwell and grinned as he said, "Get in."

Shawn sighed and felt every ache and pain in his body as he climbed in and knelt in front of the seat.

"Hands," Rollins ordered, and Shawn pressed his face into the chair as he brought his hands over his head, using the cushion to help press back the words and whimpers that were clamoring to be released. He tried to focus on the layers of pain in his shoulder to keep his mind off of everything he couldn't say as he was tied up again and the blanket was tucked back around him.

Doors opened and closed before a hand patted Shawn's aching head through the blanket. Rollins chuckled and said, "Let's go rob a bank."

Words built up as a dozen bank heist movies offered their quotes up for Shawn's consideration, and he felt like a pipe bomb about to explode.

"One of the most overlooked skills for a cop is the ability to sit still and wait; whether you're waiting on evidence, on a stakeout, or during an undercover op." Henry reached out to tap Shawn's head. "This is a tool, just like everything else. Just because you're waiting, it doesn't mean you can't be thinking."

Shawn took another deep breath and closed his eyes as he let his mind wander, losing himself in his thoughts as he tried to ignore the present.


Shawn lost track of time in the truck as his thoughts meandered randomly. His hands were numb, his knees were numb, his shoulder was definitely not numb, and still they drove. The truck finally came to a full stop, and Shawn stopped planning a prank war against Gus as he listened for any clues on what was happening. After a minute, the truck started moving again and he realized the answer; they'd been at a stoplight. Which meant they were in a town.

Rollins made a small, annoyed noise as the truck stopped again and Shawn amended his thought; they were in a bigger town. They'd made it back to Santa Barbara.

Shawn distracted himself from the questions he wanted to ask by tracking the stops and turns, trying to determine exactly where in his city they were. The idea of escape grew louder now they were in familiar territory, and he started reviewing other ways he could get away from Rollins. He had a plan, he knew it was probably the safest plan, but it required more waiting. And he was getting tired of waiting.

The truck finally came to a stop and turned off, and Shawn waited with bated breath as Rollins' door slammed closed. His door opened, the blanket was pulled off of him, and he gratefully took several breaths of fresh air as his ankles were untied. He tried to brace himself for when the tension on his arms would be released; there was no way it wasn't going to hurt like the dickens.

The rope loosened, and Shawn was proved right -again- when his whole upper body erupted in pain as he pulled his arms forward. He couldn't quite suppress the groan that forced its way through his clenched teeth, and he tried to make his body move before Rollins decided to get handsy.

His numb feet didn't get the memo fast enough, and his hair was grabbed as he was pulled out of the truck. Shawn scrambled to get his feet back under him, but his legs felt like wet noodles, and he collapsed to the ground the moment Rollins let go of him.

The world spun, stars covered his vision, his empty stomach flipped, and everything hurt. A word that described his entire existence in that moment rose up in his mind, and he couldn't stop it from forcing itself out of his mouth. "Fuck!"

He groaned, praying that wasn't the word that got him gagged. There were so many better options. Like aggiornamento, or inordinate, or fergulous, or supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. And wouldn't Gus be proud of him for all of those totally real words.

"Alright, that's long enough. Get up."

Rollins' voice cut through Shawn's rambling thoughts and he tried to bring his focus back to what was going on. Why was focusing always so hard? Shawn looked up just in time to see Rollins reaching for him again, and he worked on getting his legs to cooperate as his good arm was grabbed and he was hauled to his feet.

Shawn swayed and stumbled, but managed to keep his balance as he looked around, taking in the dark sky, the light from the streetlamps on the main road, and the shadowy alley they were parked in. An alley he recognized. Rollins' words played in his mind and he almost fell back down in relief as he asked, "So, we're at the bank now; that means I can talk again, right?"

Rollins just looked at him before rolling his eyes and grabbing the rope lead. Shawn took that as a clear 'yes' and immediately pressed the pressure relief valve in his mind. "Oh, thank god. Did you know that dolphins name themselves? They have their own clicks for names. Also, I think Klondike bars are overrated, but not twinkies. There's some sort of weird squeak under your truck, you should probably check it out. I solved a case with a small squeak once, they really shouldn't be overlooked." Rollins clenched his jaw and Shawn held up a finger. "One more, then I'm done. Promise. You need to take the rope off."

It took Rollins a second to process the request before pulling Shawn forward roughly with the rope in question. "Why the hell do you think I'd do that?"

"Because," Shawn gritted out as he breathed through the new waves of pain, "someone might come in and find us. I can explain us being there. I can probably explain this," he waved his hand slightly towards himself, indicating what he was sure was a very disheveled appearance, "but there's no way I could explain this," he held up his bound hands in demonstration.

Rollins narrowed his eyes and looked Shawn over carefully before shoving him back, pinning him to the wall. He spoke over Shawn's quiet yelp of pain. "Don't move, or I'll put so much lead into your stomach, it'll look like you ate a bullet sandwich." He waited a second before letting go and grabbing Shawn's hands to deftly untie the knots holding the restraints in place.

Shawn flexed his numb fingers, feeling a tingling that he knew was going to grow painful once the blood started flowing again, and Rollins tossed the rope into the truck bed before bending down to pick up a crowbar that was resting against the back wheel. Shawn berated himself for not noticing the potential weapon earlier, and Rollins waved it towards the lit-up side door. "Let's get this done. Show me your stuff, psychic."

Shawn pushed off of the wall and stumbled to the door, remembering back to the night he'd staked out the bank after Gus had been held hostage inside; when he'd needed to reassure himself that everyone was safe. He remembered seeing a bank employee entering the side door and focused on the hand movements over the keypad. He mimicked the motion and a red light blinked angrily at him.

"I thought you said you knew the code!"

"I do, hold on… spirits get 6s and 9s mixed up, they don't believe in ups and downs," Shawn said distractedly as he tried again. A green light lit up and he let out the breath he'd been holding. "See? Redrum, right? Easy."

A memory played as he opened the door.

"Oh, come on, Gus. Between my abilities and your jackal mode, we could be Bonnie and Clyde, but with the good ending!"

"Shawn, robbing a bank is not easy. Let's say we can actually get into the bank; there's still cameras everywhere."

Shawn looked around as they entered the bank, making sure to pause for a second while staring straight at one of the hidden cameras.

"You need a code to get into the building and a code to actually turn off the alarm."

"The door code is connected to the alarm, we should be good," Shawn whispered as they crept through the hallway. "Let's get that key."

"Nuh-uh," Rollins argued. "Teller drawers first. If we gotta run, I want to at least have something."

"You're the boss," Shawn said, barely stopping himself from shrugging his burning shoulders.

"Teller drawers can't ever have more than five thousand dollars in them at a time. And no, Shawn, that's not a lot."

Rollins eyed up the teller stations greedily as he flicked his gun to the side. "Stand over there, hands on your head. Don't get any ideas."

Shawn didn't argue as he moved to his assigned spot and raised his stinging hands to his head, wincing at the pull on his shoulder. His eyes flicked to the teller desk in front of him and to the window looking out onto the main street. Was it worth going for the silent alarm, or were the cops on their way already?

Rollins quickly broke into the drawers, pocketing the money with a sharp grin. "You might be worth the trouble after all, psychic. I think I'll keep you around."

Shawn grimaced and checked the window again. Any time now…

"Alright, you said something about a safety deposit key?" Rollins asked as he finished with the last drawer.

"Safety deposit boxes need both keys to open them, and the bank one is kept in a secured location."

"The manager just keeps it in his desk, top left drawer." Shawn nodded towards the office, remembering a glint of light as the drawer was closed.

"Typical police response time is under seven minutes once an alarm is tripped. There's a reason most criminals don't try to rob a bank, it's way too risky for the reward."

Shawn finally saw what he was looking for as Rollin broke open the desk drawer: a reflection of red and blue lights.

"Thanks, buddy," he whispered under his breath as he checked to make sure both of Rollins' hands were busy before he turned and sprinted back for the side door.

"What the- Damnit! Get back here!"

The floor seemed to sway like a boat at sea, and Shawn tried to adjust as he stumbled into the wall. He just needed to get outside, so he wouldn't be a hostage when the cops got there. That was the only goal he could think of as the distance to the door seemed to grow and he heard fast footsteps behind him. He forced his feet to keep moving as adrenaline dulled his aches and pains, lending him the speed he needed to make it out alive.

"I'm going to enjoy watching you die!" Rollins yelled, his voice sounding like he was only inches away as Shawn grabbed the door handle and practically fell into the dark alley.

"So, no, Shawn, we are not robbing any banks together."

Shawn tried to run for the lit-up street in front of him, but a weight ran into his back, bringing him to the ground. Fire erupted through his body, but it was distant as he rolled around and flailed out instinctively, hitting the gun out of Rollins' hand.

Rollins retaliated with a swift punch to the face and Shawn kicked and bucked, trying to throw the bad guy off of him as his vision blurred. Rollins tried to keep him pinned down as he grabbed Shawn's throat and snarled, "I don't need a gun to make you breathe your last breath."

Shawn grabbed at the hands strangling him and tried to pull them off as he frantically wheezed. He knew he was fighting a losing battle, but he also knew he had one thing Rollins didn't. Time.

Police sirens wailed nearby and Rollins looked up, his grip loosening as he looked between the main street, Shawn's face, and back towards the truck. He bared his teeth and looked down to snarl, "This isn't over!"

The hands around his throat let go, and Shawn gasped for breath before crying out in pain as Rollins rammed the base of his palm into Shawn's hurt shoulder. Hot agony spread from the hit, whiting everything out as the weight on top of Shawn went away with the sound of running feet. The sirens were almost there, but Rollins was getting away.

He hadn't lost a bad guy yet; he wasn't planning on starting now.

Shawn gritted his teeth and pushed past the pain as he forced his eyes open and rolled onto his side. He heard a truck door slam shut as his eyes lit on the abandoned gun.

Shawn scrambled for the weapon as the truck started, and he rolled onto his belly as soon as his hand wrapped around the grip. His pain was distant as he focused solely on the task at hand, bracing his elbows on the ground, watching the truck pull away, lining up his shot, letting out a breath, and squeezing the trigger.

The gun barked and jumped in his hand, and the back tire of the truck blew out, sending the vehicle careening into the building next to it. Tires screeched behind him, and the siren cut off while strobing red and blue lights illuminated the alley. Shawn stayed still, keeping the gun trained on the truck.

Footsteps ran up behind him and a familiar voice called out, "Spencer, you good?"

"Oh yeah, fantastic," Shawn answered, layering as much sarcasm into his rough voice as possible.

"Yeah, you're good."

Shawn lowered the gun as Lassiter jogged past him, his own gun trained on the truck as he yelled, "Hands where I can see them! Hands!"

Shawn sagged in relief as more voices approached him; the bad guy was getting cuffed, and everyone was ok. One of the longest days of his life was finally over.

A gruff voice softened by worry spoke up, "Shawn."

Shawn felt his dad's presence next to him and he started to shake as he felt all of the pain, fear, and exhaustion he'd been trying to keep at bay. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and answered back, "Dad."

He remembered one last lesson and calmed his trembling hands long enough to eject the magazine from the gun and clear the chamber. No bullet came out and he glanced down in numb surprise, taking in the completely empty magazine.

A set of memories rose up unbidden, highlighting Rollins' flat, empty pockets, and a gruff curse as Rollins looked through the glove box. Shawn couldn't help it. He began to laugh.

"Uh… Shawn?" Gus asked as he knelt down on Shawn's other side. "You ok?"

"He forgot to grab extra mags," Shawn explained between the giggles. "He only had one shot…" he suddenly sobered as he remembered the standoff in the woods. "Oh my god, he still had one shot."

"You got his tire with only one shot?" Lassiter asked as he led Rollins back in cuffs. Shawn nodded, still reeling at his near-death experience. Lassiter looked him over appraisingly before looking back at the truck with slightly raised eyebrows. "Nice shooting, Detective."

Shawn's jaw dropped and his mind froze for the second time in less than a minute. "Did you just call me Detective?"

Lassiter seemed to realize what he'd just said as his eyebrows scrunched together and he refused to make eye contact. "...No."

"Hey, we need paramedics over here," Juliet's voice called out, breaking the moment. Shawn dropped his pounding head onto his hands and closed his eyes. He knew he should roll over, take the strain off of his burning shoulder, but the idea of doing anything except sitting still seemed too overwhelming to even consider.

A hand rested on his lower back and he sighed as he turned his head to look at his dad. "I know, I messed up."

"Yeah, you did," his dad agreed.

"I shouldn't have gone investigating on my own, I should have hung up on Gina, I should have paid more attention to the gas station…" Shawn trailed off as he saw a strange look cross over his dad's face. "What? Did I miss something?"

"Yeah," his dad answered gently as the paramedics shooed Gus away. "I'm glad you're ok. And you did good."

Shawn's brain seemed to be deciding that being frozen was its new normal. "Wait… I did what now?"

"I'm not saying it again," his dad said with a small smirk.

He stayed by Shawn's side as the paramedics eased him onto a stretcher, and Shawn would never admit it to anyone if they asked, but he was glad for the closeness.

His dad was here; he was safe.


A/N: I just want to point out that I said I'd make Rollins 'slightly' smarter. Not smart.

I adore this episode, and I'm glad I got to write about it. Thanks everyone for reading!

Re: the commenter last chapter. You actually reminded me how much I wanted the 'nice shooting' line to still make it in, and I rethought the planned escape attempt until I could figure out how to make it work. So, super thank you for the review!