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Story Notes:
In celebration of the 12th anniversary of Psych, a challenge was issued: You can write about anything, provided you celebrate Psych, however that means to you, and include a dozen items of some sort (pineapples, case files, roses, donuts, etc.).

Well... to me celebrating Psych is to put them through the wringer and watch what happens lol. I did my best to include as many characters as possible. Writing this fic was quite a challenge, especially with only an average of about 416 words per fic since there is a 5k word limit.

I do indeed have a dozen of the same item spread throughout this whole thing, can you find them all?

This fic almost didn't end up done in time but I powered through!

Thank you so much to Koohii Kappu and DinerGuy for your cheering and beta-ing all of my terrible mistakes XD I never would have gotten this done without ya'll.


Shawn mentally kicked himself at his stupidity. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He had known it was too good to be true yet he had gone alone anyway.

His curiosity had been piqued when he saw a Craigslist post for a free motorcycle. The owner claimed it only needed light maintenance and that he had to move and needed to get rid of it ASAP.

After a few text messages, they had agreed to meet up to check it out at a junkyard outside of town that the owner claimed was where his uncle was keeping the bike for him.

Shawn's first clue probably should have been that it was a deserted junkyard, but being ever the optimist, the guy had never said it wasn't abandoned, just that it was his uncle's. The meeting place of his first motorcycle purchase had been a bit suspicious too, but this place definitely gave him creepy Garth Longmore flashback vibes. Maybe that should have been his second clue.

The third clue should have been the lack of motorcycle at their meetup. When Shawn pulled up on his own Norton, a couple of hours before dusk, he was met by a lone figure holding a flask standing in the lot. They had exchanged hands and pleasantries before he had been led to an old office building where the supposed bike was being kept.

Shawn should have known better when the guy said he could go on in ahead of him. He saw a second too late the glint of the large wrench that was grabbed and bashed over the back of his head, making Shawn crumble to the ground. His vision swam as he cried out from the pain that exploded through him. He was unconscious two seconds after landing on the floor.

Coming to was one of the worst experiences Shawn had ever had. A careful touch to the back of his throbbing head revealed the presence of blood. He carefully sat up and was slightly relieved that he was still in the junkyard office. Patting himself down, he groaned when he realized his pockets had been emptied of his phone, wallet, and keys.

Now here he was: slowly walking back to town with the concussion of a lifetime and his only prized possession most likely long gone. Shawn wasn't sure if his wound or his stupidity stung more. He was not going to hear the end of it from anyone anytime soon once he made it back to the station.




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