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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is set BEFORE 4x9, Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark.
Thank you to Arrow for making sure this makes sense haha
It shouldn’t come as a surprise, after all of the threats and guns and running after criminals, that someone eventually has the guts to kidnap Shawn.

Waking up, his head feels stuffed with cotton. He distantly remembers entering the Psych office, then encountering the husband of the victim whose case he was investigating.

After that?


A couple minutes after regaining consciousness, his dad’s voice floats through his head. If you’re kidnapped, try to take in your surroundings without them noticing. No, don’t open your eyes yet, Shawn. Use your other senses. What can you hear?

He strains his ears, trying to concentrate through the fog in his brain. He hears shuffling, a couple of faint voices far enough away he can’t tell the words. It has a certain muffled quality, like they’re behind a wall. He’s probably alone.

What can you hear, are you tied down? With what? Henry continues.

He wiggles his hands, and they’re numb. Moving them sends static up his arms. He can feel his legs, though, and the pain shooting up them along with weight on bones tells him he’s been dumped in a weird position on the floor.

Shawn waits a couple of moments, then opens his eyes slowly, examining the room.

The walls, floor, and ceiling are all concrete. Rubble piles up along the sides, a black burn covering the wall on his right. The metal door in front of him is intact and no one’s standing guard. His hands are tied with rope to a metal ring in the floor. Shawn starts tugging at the loops, trying to undo them, but the rope is thin and his vision keeps blurring.

After only a few minutes, he has to sit back, panting. The room spins, and he swallows back bile. His wrists burn, rubbed raw, and his legs’ pain is made apparent again.

If you can’t safely escape by yourself, the next best thing is to wait for help. Moving makes you harder to find.

So Shawn sits in a more comfortable position, and waits. And waits. He starts fidgeting with the rope.

He’s never been good at waiting.

A gunshot echoes. Another. He doesn’t have the energy to look up.

Footsteps approach, hurriedly, and a figure kneels in front of him. He looks up into the face of his best friend.

“Gus,” Shawn breathes, and falls forward into him. “Take me home.”
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