One Beer, Two Beer, Three Beer, Floor
by Tazmy
Shawn Spencer drank his beer while cautiously watching the man on the stool next to him. Shawn wasn't worried as much about the tattoo surrounding his companion's massive bicep—the one that read KILL in large calligraphy—as he was that this bicep was attached to Bud Jenkins.
The moment Shawn had seen this large man enter the bar, his first instinct was to head for the exit. He had after all, just told Bud's girlfriend that Bud had indeed been cheating on her and she should break up with him immediately. While there was little chance Bud would know who Shawn was, it wasn't a risk Shawn was willing to take.
Unfortunately, Bud had noticed Shawn almost as quickly as Shawn had noticed Bud. The glare was unmistakable. Shawn wasn't sure how, but there was no doubt that Bud knew who he was and what he had done. Before Shawn could escape, Bud had placed his massive hand on Shawn's shoulder, led him back to the bar, and then—strangely enough—insisted on buying him a beer.
“Drink!” Bud had growled, not letting go of Shawn's shoulder.
At the very least, it was a free beer, so rather than invoke the fury of the giant, Shawn did as he was told. He'd even managed to flirt a bit with the bartender before noticing it only made Bud clench his fist that much tighter.
So here he was, three beers later, watching Bud down another shot.
“That should do it!” Bud loudly exclaimed, slamming his drink down on the bar.
Shawn was about to ask 'what' by way of some sly comment, but before he could open his mouth he was suddenly hovering above his stool, his collar wrapped in Bud's fist. Thanks to the alcohol this had a dizzying effect on his stomach.
“She was everything, man!”
“She who? There's a lot of women here so you'll have to be more specific.” Shawn feigned his innocence as best as he could.
“Penny! My girl. The one you took from me!”
Strange as it was, Bud's eyes were filling with tears as he swayed slightly. Bud wasn’t only drunk, he was furious. There was no way this was going to end well.
“Oh, Penny! Right. You must be Bud then. I've heard so much about you.”
Acting casual while hanging in the air was a skill Shawn had learned early on, but that didn't make it easy.
“You lying, rat bastard. You told her I cheated! I would never...”
“Uh, you did. The perfume on your collar, the change in your shirts, and the way you were always gone between 2 and 3 in the morning? It doesn't take a psychic to figure out you've been a naughty, naughty boy.”
Sudden stars filled the room as Shawn's cheek erupted in pain. By the time he could process that a fist had just collided with his face, Shawn was on the bar floor struggling to get up.
“Wait, wait!” Shawn cried, backing away from the threat. “Let me get this straight. You came here to buy me a beer so you could hit me? Can anyone say mixed signals?”
“Never fight sober,” Bud answered, brushing the sweat from his forehead.
“Actually the rule is 'never drive drunk'. I can see how you'd mix them up, though.”
He saw Bud's foot move forward as he tightened his fists. Whirling behind him, Shawn grabbed the bar stool and swung it around catching Bud in the side. The stool bent around his thick form. Hoping the distraction would last, Shawn scurried toward the exit, but Bud's strong arms grabbed him once again.
“Oh no you don't!” he cried.
In the movies, it was always so cool when someone slid across the bar. As it turned out, it wasn't nearly as cool to experience. Bud grabbed the back of Shawn's shirt and tossed him across the counter. Glasses shattered to the ground, Shawn's ribs ached from the impact, and the sliding was altogether awkward and painful.
“Hey!” someone shouted, as though Shawn could help what just happened.
By now, the bartender was shouting at both of them to leave before she called the cops.
“Really? Sure you don't want to wait until I'm dead to call them? Because I was sort of hoping you'd call them now! But I guess I'm just strange like that.”
From his periphery, Shawn noticed Bud staggering closer. Grabbing the item closest to him, Shawn swung off the bar, twisted out of Bud's grasp, and slammed the item over Bud's head. Glass sprayed the room as the bottle crashed over Bud's thick skull. Bud shook his head allowing glass to spill in every direction.
“C'mon, man, that so should have knocked you out!”
Bud growled by way of response.
The light caught the metallic object in Bud's jacket, illuminating just how screwed Shawn really was. Bud wasn't moving in to hit him again, rather he was reaching in toward his pocket.
Shawn rolled away as bar patrons screamed. There was a deafening shot followed by god-awful pain in his side. Shawn scurried further back, feeling the sticky ooze emanating from the gunshot wound.
“Police, freeze!”
The room moved in a dizzying whirl though Shawn was fairly certain he was lying still. He could just make out Buzz and a few other officers pointing their guns at the crazed drunk.
“He took her,” Bud sobbed, lowering his weapon and slinking to the ground. “He took her.” Suddenly the giant bully looked like a helpless two-year-old wrapped in the fetal position.
Shawn might have felt sorry for the guy if not for the blood still pouring out from the wound. He tried breathing slowly, but his body insisted on breathing fast as the room began to fade.
“Shawn?” Buzz asked, pressing something tight against Shawn's side. “You're going to be okay. Just hold on, okay?”
Sirens drowned out all other speech. A moment later, strangers lifted him on a stretcher and then wheeled him to the ambulance outside. It all seemed so distant and far away, as though none of it was actually happening.
He'd been shot.
He'd actually been shot.
The pain was testament enough to that fact. He wanted to say something funny to break the tension and prove that everything was okay, but no words came out. It was surprisingly difficult to think much less say anything. He could scream though, and he wasn't ashamed to do so either. Everything was lost in a cloud of pain and each movement made it hurt that much more.
Then he remembered Gus. Shawn groaned. Gus had told him to stop taking these cases and now he was never going to let it go that it was a stupid cheating case that got Shawn shot. Just great.
That was his last thought before the ambulance faded away.
...
He wasn't sure how much time passed before he woke up in the hospital. His dad and Gus were there looking disheveled and sleep deprived. Beside him, a heart monitor beeped, providing information that made absolutely no sense to Shawn. Cringing, Shawn tried to straighten up to get his companion’s attention. It hurt like hell despite whatever pain medicine was pumping through his IV.
“I told you not to take any more of those cases, Shawn!” Gus crossed his arms, pretending not to be worried.
Henry, on the other hand, was strangely silent. Shawn was sure his dad would have shown up yelling and lecturing, but instead he stayed on the opposite side of the room, staring forward as though Shawn were still asleep. Truth be told, it was a little creepy.
Meanwhile, Jules brought him flowers. “I knew you cared,” Shawn told her, batting his eyes sweetly. She lightly pushed his shoulder, shaking her head before walking away.
Even Lassie stopped by. Although he claimed it was to take Shawn's statement. This didn't explain why he showed up at least two more times just to see how Shawn was doing.
Two weeks later, Shawn found himself at his dad’s house. The lectures were just Henry’s way of showing worry, but Shawn could have done without the yelling.
Two days after Shawn escaped his dad’s, a young woman walked in to the Psych office.
“He's cheating on me!” she declared between loud nose blowing. “Please, you have to take this case or I don't know what I'll do.”
Gus glared at Shawn, conveying without words that in no uncertain terms were they going to take this case. He started to say, “I'm sorry, miss, but we can't--”
“Now, now don't be such a party pooper, Mr. Naysayer Pants. Can't you see this woman is distraught?”
“Shawn!”
Ignoring his friend, Shawn handed the woman another Kleenex. “Of course we'll take the case. I just have one question.”
“What's that?” the woman sobbed.
“Does your boyfriend have any tattoos, by chance? Are they large or threatening in any manner?”
END
Story Notes:
Written for the Whumpathon. Prompts: Location: Bar; Whump: Gunshot wound (as per gun); Whump tool kit: fist, gun.
I don't think the violence is that graphic, but I thought I'd put it as a warning just to be safe.
My first Psychfic. Thanks to Koli for the quick beta!
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.