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Story Notes:
Spoilers for Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark.

I don't own Psych. I also don't own the song Runnin' Down a Dream by Tom Petty.
"It was a beautiful day, the sun beat down…"

Tom Petty sang quietly on the radio. Quietly, because Shawn had made three attempts to turn the volume up, resulting in a smack to the hand each time.

The blue Echo cruised down the winding street, narrow enough to be wary of oncoming traffic. Trees rushed past the car on both sides, framing the road with soft shadows from the sun overhead.

"How far away did you say this guy lives?" Gus asked, trying to stretch his back while keeping his eyes on the road.

Shawn yawned. "Twenty more minutes, Gus." He carefully reached toward the radio volume dial. Not careful enough, though, because Gus smacked his hand away.

"Ow! Dude!"

"I will slap you, Shawn!"

"Gus, if you're going to threaten me, at least be more creative. You've already slapped me," he counted on his fingers, "four times!"

A quiet "ding!" came from the dashboard and Gus frowned. "Man, why did I let you talk me into passing that last gas station? Now I'm almost empty."

"That station wasn't selling any good snacks," Shawn answered, closing his eyes and holding a finger to his temple. "I sensed it."

"Shawn, you and I both know you're not psychic."

Shawn scoffed, waving his hand to dismiss his best friend. "Agree to disagree. You want the truth? No cars. That station looked like it hadn't gotten business in weeks. I bet the food was all bad anyway."

"But we still could have gotten gas."

Shawn chuckled. "Don't make me switch to outside air."

Gus opened his mouth to retort but held his tongue when he spotted a sign. "I think that's another one up ahead."

Sure enough, a small clearing between the trees revealed a gas station. It was small, only able to fill two vehicles at a time, and one pump was already occupied by a gray minivan. Gus pulled up next to the empty pump. "Grab some snacks while I fill up. I'm famished."

Shawn groaned, sliding off his seat belt and opening the door. "Man, you and your stomach."

He stepped onto the rough pavement, tiny gravel pieces crunching under his shoe. Shutting the door, he looked inside the store's window. Junk food lined the shelves inside, and a very welcoming tray of candy sat just inside the glass door.

He heard a car door shut and whirled around. The woman in the minivan had finished filling up and pulled out of the gas station, continuing down the narrow road and disappearing behind the trees.

Embarrassed that he had been startled by a van, he turned back to the store and noticed his reflection in the glass door. Just over his shoulder, he noticed the vague outline of another person.

Another person that wasn't Gus.

"We should hurry, he's really motivated."

Shawn whirled around again, carefully scanning the line of trees for a dead man.

His heartbeat hammered in his clenched fists as his breathing grew shallow. Distantly, he saw Gus putting the gas nozzle in the car, but Gus was miles away, back at the police station and talking to Jules and not suffocating.

Shawn ran a hand across his neck, feeling new beads of sweat on his skin. His breathing wasn't shallow anymore. His breathing was three thousand feet above sea level.

He was not going into that store.

As manly and as sneaky as possible, he bolted back to the Blueberry, tossing himself into the passenger seat and throwing his seatbelt on. Drumming on his lap, he called out the driver's window. "Is it done yet?"

While Gus responded with a negative, Shawn scanned his surroundings. Nothing but trees around for miles, and yet he was sure he could hear windchimes somewhere.


"In a minute, Shawn."

Everything was really loud. Gus was whistling some tune that sounded to him like police sirens, the foul stench of gasoline filled the car and everything was dark and his shoulder burned and he felt sticky and where are those windchimes!

"Where are the snacks, Shawn?"

He opened his eyes.

Gus stood just outside the open driver's side door, staring into the car at his best friend. His face managed to convey confusion, concern, and hunger all at once.

Shawn blinked. Gus was still waiting for an answer.

"Oh," he breathed, trying to smile as he sat up in his seat. "They, uh, they didn't have anything good inside, so I didn't… Look man, it's only twenty minutes to this guy's place. Once we talk to him, we can go find that taco place you've been begging to eat at."

Gus took a deep breath. "Shawn, I'm hungry now . I can't go another twenty minutes without some delicious buttery--"

Gus cut his argument short when he saw Shawn look back at the store, scratching a spot on his shoulder. To the untrained eye, it looked like nothing.

Gus knew Shawn better than to think that.

He looked up at the store, taking in its emptiness and the windows in the storefront and the rustic signs lining the walls and


Shawn glanced back at him. "Oh?"

"Shawn… are you--"

A loud click made both of them jump. Gus spun around. The numbers on the pump had stopped going up, meaning the tank was full. "Sorry," Gus said, stepping around the car and removing the hose. "Let me just…" He placed the nozzle back where it belonged and slid into the driver's seat.

"On second thought," he said to his best friend. "Twenty minutes won't kill me."
Chapter End Notes:
Please review! Also, this is my first time posting on Psychfic, so please let me know if I did something wrong.

Also, for some reason, the preview says this is part of a series. It's not, but I can't figure out why it says that.

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