Smashed Chapter One, a psych fanfic

A/N: So, I decided to continue this and felt that it needed a name change in order to fit the directions that it's probably going to go in. Once again, I'm sorry if my characters are out-of-character and if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes. I'm trying my best. My writing style might change in the middle of this chapter because I wrote the first half and then wrote the second half later; my writing seems to change with whatever mood I'm in. I know that there's a lot of Shawn in this chapter but the next chapter--which should be out soon, since I'm almost done writing it--has plenty of Gus in it. For the record this is Gus/Shawn slash, so if you don't like it, don't read it. It is an established relationship but they aren't "out" to anyone except Henry and Gus' parents, though everyone has suspicions. One more thing: I know that Henry probably comes off as a total bitch but I don't mean to make him a complete antagonist. I'll get into his motives for saying what he says later, but keep in mind that I don't hate him and he's not supposed to be a villain. Remember, reviews are love.

Disclaimer: PsychUSA. 'Nough said.

Chapter One

Shawn couldn't stand hospitals. He wouldn't say that he hated them, because Shawn tried his very hardest not to hate, not to hate, not to hate. But he couldn't stand hospitals: the clean, ammonia, disinfectant smell; the sterile, bleach white; the food not worthy of a pig trough; the starchy sheets; the waiting, the waiting, the waiting; the pain, the hurt, the grief; the pure raw emotion. The only thing that Shawn liked about hospitals was morphine, and only because that dulled the world and gave everything a golden glow, and who didn't like something that was surrounded by a golden glow?

For all his dislike of them Shawn spent a tremendous amount of time in hospitals. At the local hospital he knew the name of most of the doctors, all of the nurses, and was privy to the inside gossip of the hospital. Ninety-nine percent of the time a trip to the hospital was for Shawn, and those few one percent trips Shawn dearly wished that they were gathered in the sterile waiting room because of him and not someone else.

As Shawn sat in his hospital bed, letting the golden glow of the painkillers seep away and leave him in cold darkness, Shawn wished that his seventeen stitches, cracked rib, and assorted bruises and abrasions were the extent of their problems. He wished as he had never wished before that Lassiter was not three floors above him in surgery, fighting for his life.

And it was all Shawn's fault.

Not that any of them—the them being Gus, Juliet, and Chief Vick—had come right out and said that it was his fault. But he knew the truth. He knew it was his fault. And he hated himself for it. It was one of those moments where Shawn, the Shawn that had been rebuilt from ashes in Mexico, slipped back into New Shawn mode; it was a moment when Shawn hated, hated, hated something so fiercely he thought he would die.

He had sent an exhausted Gus home to bed, not wanting his friend around for his, hopefully, brief descent into a world of New Shawn/Old Shawn that he thought he had left behind. His friend needed sleep, and he would find none of that worrying himself sick at the side of his best friend's hospital bed.

The door opened and Shawn looked up, ready to chide Gus for not listening to him. His father stood in the doorway and all of the words in Shawn's mouth turned to dust, settling on his tongue and rendering him temporarily mute.

"Well, Shawn. are you happy now?" Shawn felt like he was falling rapidly through time, transported back to the worst ages of his life. "Your foolish escapades nearly killed Lassiter. And it's all your fault."

Shawn blinked, unsure if he was dreaming or not. "After all these years, and you still haven't learned your lesson yet kid? You can't screw around with other people's lives!" Shawn found that his vocal chords wouldn't work. He could not speak a word. "You have to learn responsibility! You threw your chances to be a cop down the drain, so stop playing at it now before you get yourself or someone else killed. Lassiter is the one with the badge, the one with the power. You're just some jumped up pretend-cop, a kid screwing around where he doesn't belong!"

Now Shawn didn't want to say anything. The hate was back, burning more strongly than ever before, a wild fire directed inwards and outwards, towards himself and towards that man. "Get out," was all he could muster.

That man shook his head in disgust. "Screw up your own life next time, Shawn."

Shawn's back was rigid. "I said, get out," he hissed. That man shook his head and stomped out, leaving Shawn in his hospital bed feeling as though the floor had dropped out beneath him.

Trembling Shawn got out of the hospital bed and found his clothes, pulling them on and grabbing the rest of his possessions. There were bloodstains on his shirt and jeans, both his and Lassiter's blood, but he pulled them on anyway, biting his lip to keep from yelping when he raised his arms, and then gingerly pulled on his jacket, wincing as it went over his stitches. Looking in a mirror he noticed that his lip was cut and the side of his face was beginning to darken into an angry bruise, but it couldn't be helped. He zipped up his jacket to cover the bloodstains to the best of his ability, then stuck his head out into the hallway and looked around. A few doctors bustled by with harried expressions and a nurse went through the hallway, turning into one of the rooms, but there was no one who would stop him.

Putting on a confident, I-know-exactly-where-I'm-going Shawn turned down the corridor towards the exit. After his many times in the hospital he practically had a blueprint of the building in his mind. He passed by a few nurses, catching their eye and smiling and nodding without even slowing down. One of them took off after him. "Excuse me, sir?"

Shawn turned towards her. "Yes?" Her eyes traveled from the bloodstains on his jeans to his bruised face; he put on sheepish expression. "My friend fell off a ladder while putting up Christmas decorations and I tried to catch him. Didn't work to well, he smacked my right in the face and landed in one of the holly bushes. I've had a bit of first-aid training so I took care of the bleeding while his wife drove us to the hospital. He's fine, just a couple of stitches and a bump on the head, no real harm. I'm going to home to change out of these clothes." The nurse nodded and smiled.

"Drive careful, sir."

"Yes m'am. Don't want to end up in a cot next to old Sam there." He nodded politely to her and walked through the doors into the bright December afternoon. Thrusting his hands in his pockets he walked around the side of the building parking, his heart pounding, his head aching, his breath quick, and feeling as though he were in It's a Wonderful Life and the floor was about to open and swallow him up and he would just sink and sink and drown.

Pausing to lean against the wall he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit his speed dial number four button.

"Santa Barbara City Cab, how can I help you?"

"Yes, I need a cab at the Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital, please. I'll be outside of the emergency room."

"Right away sir. We'll have someone there in ten minutes. Can I take your name?"

Shawn hesitated. "Burton Guster," he finally said.

Shawn hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket then tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

"Are you happy now?"

"Screw up your own life next time."

"It wasn't your fault Shawn."

"Get out of the way Shawn!"

"You still haven't learned your lesson, have you Shawn?"

"A kid screwing around where he doesn't belong…."

"It's all your fault."

Shawn whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, his hands over his ears, trying to block out the voices that resounded in his own mind. But they just kept coming faster, a blur of Gus and Lassiter and that man, his mother and Karen and even his own voice.

"I hate him."

I hate him.

Shawn hated and he couldn't stand it. The sound of a car pulling up made him open his eyes; he peered around the corner to see a yellow cab waiting. Shawn approached the cab and pulled open the door, sliding in and biting the inside of his cheek to deal with the pain. The cab driver looked back at him. "Mr. Guster?" Shawn nodded. "Where are we going?" Shawn pretended that the cab driver's eyes didn't flicker to the bruise on his cheek or the bloodstain on his jeans.

"West Beach, the corner of West Cabrillo and State Street."

The cab driver nodded and turned back, shifting gears and taking off through the parking lot, turning onto one familiar street after another. Shawn stared blankly out the window, not really seeing anything that went by. He could still hear the voices, still feel the hate that coursed through his veins, still feel the anger hot on his skin; his arm and his rib hurt and he felt woozy and the pain killers were completely gone and he couldn't help but feel that he deserved it because, after all, it was his fault.

The cab slowed to a stop and Shawn found himself blinking at the ocean and the familiar street. "We're here, Mr. Guster. That'll be ten-oh-five." Shawn pulled a ten dollar bill and a nickel from his wallet and handed it over then nodded his head to the driver. "Have a good day, sir!" The driver said as Shawn closed the door behind him.

A good day. Yeah right.

The yellow cab pulled away, leaving Shawn standing on the sidewalk, with the beach and the ocean and the ocean breeze. He walked down the street; he could see the Psych office just a little ways down but every step seemed to take more out of him than he would have expected.

His bike was waiting in Psych's parking lot and the light around it seemed a little bit brighter, as if it were calling to him. Shawn ran a loving hand over the handle bar's as he passed. He fumbled in his pocket for his office key and then triumphantly unlocked the door, pushing it open. He flipped on the light switch and headed for his desk. He pulled open the bottom drawer and stared at the contents.

For a moment Shawn bit his lip. Did he really want to…"Learned your lesson yet, Shawn?"

He pulled the black backpack out of the drawer. It was heavy, containing everything that he needed to survive: extra clothes, his passport, bottles of water, extra cash, two credit cards, a copy of his birth certificate, a cell phone charger, granola bars, a GPS, a first-aid kit, a copy of his insurance card, aspirin, batteries, a book of Sudoku puzzles, a small notebook, pens, and assorted small items. He grabbed his iPod off of the desk and his portable charger and shoved them both in one of the compartments, then took a final glance around the room.

"Screw up your own life next time."

Shawn slung the backpack over his good shoulder and head for the door, pausing to flip off the lights. As the darkness settled over the office Shawn turned around. "See ya Gus." He said to the empty room, his voice echoing. "Don't come looking."

Shawn headed out into the sunny afternoon and didn't look back.

Nurse Kathy Marson was having a relatively good day. Relatively because a cop had come in early and was only now getting out of surgery; good because it had been quiet otherwise and her shift was almost over. She could go home, pick her son up from school, and have an early evening, something that didn't normally happen. Maybe she could even get some online Christmas shopping done.

Humming quietly beneath her breath Kathy walked down the hall to check on patient Shawn Spencer. He'd been brought in with the cop, treated for a laceration on his upper left arm and a cracked rib. The guy had a medical file three inches thick and Kathy shook her head, tsking. She'd had patients like him before, people who just couldn't stay out of trouble.

Well, at least he was the last one for the day. Steeling herself Kathy entered the room and found…nothing.

Kathy blinked at the empty bed and turned towards the bathroom. The door was open and there was no one in it. "Mr. Spencer?" she called. There was no answer. The sheets on the bed were thrown back but, when she placed a hand on the bed, she found that it was cold. There were no possessions anywhere to be found.

She stared around the room once more before walking out into the hallway. "Has anyone seen my patient?" she asked, desperate with the sudden knowledge that no, she wasn't going to get home early and no, she wasn't going to get any Christmas shopping done. Other doctors and nurses paused to shake their heads, staring at her. But Kathy already knew.

Shawn Spencer was gone.