Written for the Ya Had A Bad Day challenge at Psychfic . com.

Uh, also not my best work. But I think it's okay. Maybe. not very much Henry or Gus, and it's mostly just Shawn-whump. But... Just read it, you'll see.


Juliet's eyes widened as she stared at Shawn. "Wh-what did you just say?" Her voice was hushed, scandalized.

He grinned widely, not bothering to lower his voice. "Oh come on, Jules. You know it's the truth. Pineapple is truly the best fruit out there… but even I can't deny the benefits of an apple. Especially if it's a man in an apple suit outside a police station… what's he doing there anyway? Plus, if you add 'pine' to the front, what do you have?"

There was a long pause, then Shawn looked around him. "Dude, where's Gus? That was his cue!"

Juliet couldn't help giggling. "To do what?"

His eyes sparkled playfully at her. "I can't tell you that, it breaks the rule!"

"What rule?"

Shawn shook his head, mock-disappointed. "Jules, Jules, Jules. I can't believe you would even ask me such a thing. Even Lassy knows the rule!"

The Head Detective, who had been walking by at that exact moment, paused, opened his mouth, but then seemed to rethink it, shaking his head and continuing on his way without a word.

At this, Shawn's mouth fell open. He shot Juliet a suspicious glance, grabbing her arm and tugging her into the Chief's office.

"Good morning, Mr. Spencer, Detective O'Hara."

Shawn's eyes widened, and he yanked Juliet right back out of the room. She followed him, rolling her eyes as he made his way to Buzz and stopped expectantly. The young police officer offered him a harried, "Hi Shawn," as he rushed past, but nothing more.

Shawn groaned, tilted his head back, and dramatically fell to his knees, yelling up at the ceiling. "It's gone! It's all gone!"

Juliet stood above him, one eyebrow raised. Everyone else in the station ignored the psychic's melodramatic cry.

Shawn popped back to his feet, babbling to Juliet. "See that there? Right there? It's been happening all day. No one is doing what they're supposed to, Jules! Look, Gus is always there to finish the punch line! And – and Lassy, he's always mad at me; he always goes like, 'What are you talking about, Spencer?' and then we banter. And Chief always tells me to knock when I burst in, and Buzz… well; Buzz always has a pineapple smoothie here for me. And no one in the station responded when I yelled. That's what they do. And… does that guy have a fan on his head? What's going on?"

Much to his surprise, Juliet didn't answer. Well, not in the traditional manner. Instead, she reached out and yanked him by his ears forward. Shawn, thinking she was trying to kiss him, went…

…And found himself in a headlock under his father's arm, while the police officers around them cheered. "How many hats, Shawn?" The man asked, "How many hats?"

Shawn panicked, staring around at the officers and random apple suit wearers. "Uh… I don't know! I don't know, okay?!"

His father dropped him and stepped back. "I'm disgusted with you, Shawn."

Shawn closed his eyes tightly. "I know, dad."

He opened them to see Lassiter's face right up in his. He was grinning, and he had an alarm clock in his mouth. Shawn blinked, but then it began to buzz loudly…


Shawn sat up, breathing heavily. "Aah!"

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he turned to look suspiciously at his alarm clock. His eyes widened at the time, as well as the fact that it wasn't going off.

"Okay… scary dream, waking up at 3AM… This is not going to be a fun day."


3:15AM, Shawn's Apartment

After fifteen minutes of unsuccessfully trying to go back to sleep, there was a knock on his door. Shawn sighed and made his way out to it, opening it. The 'little old cat lady', also known as Mrs. Fitzwilliams, was wringing her hands outside his door.

"Oh Shawn, Mr. Speckles escaped! H-he's out there, all alone, and he's just a little kitty… and the Williams next door just got a big mean dog… Please, please help me get him back!"

Shawn agreed, closing the door while he went back to his bedroom to pull on some boots. Grumbling about stupid old women with their idiotic cats, he ran a hand through his hair and made his way back outside.

Yawning, he walked out into the street, waving a flashlight around. "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty… Here kitty… Come on, Mr. Speckles…"

Shawn jumped when he heard loud barking, and turned his flashlight to look at the garden of his next-door neighbors. With a sinking heart, he walked closer and peered over the fence, shining his flashlight down.

Sure enough, there was the cat… holed up in a tree in almost the exact center of the little garden, with a moderately sized dog barking up at it. Shawn sighed heavily, then scrambled up over the fence, cursing when his thin sleeping shirt got caught and ripped, letting his skin underneath get scratched.

Nearly falling as he landed in a bush, Shawn stumbled free before turning back to get the flashlight. Snatching it up, he made his way towards the tree. Stopping a few feet away, he set down the flashlight so that it lit up the entire tree, and began to inch forward, talking to the dog.

"Hello, buddy… I'm Shawn, you don't want to bite me, no you don't… Good boy…"

He yelped when the dog rushed toward him, but it only started jumping around his feet, panting excitedly. Relaxing, Shawn reached down to scratch its ears. "Good boy…"

Trying to navigate around the excited dog was difficult, but he managed, finally making his way to the base of the tree.

Peering up into the branches, Shawn sighed, yawned again, and began to climb.


Twenty minutes later, he fell from the tree, clutching a wildly hissing and scratching cat. He let out a muffled cry of pain when he hit the ground, but didn't let go of the angry cat, which was trying to reach his face to claw at his eyes.

However, as he got to his feet, limping, he was faced with a new problem; the previously friendly dog no longer liked him much with a cat in his hands, and was rushing around his legs, jumping up at him.

Shawn made his painful way back to the fence, and flung himself and the cat over, swearing again as he landed on his twisted ankle. He collapsed to the ground, leaning on the fence and breathing hard, for a few seconds, only to jump and yell in pain when the cat's sharp claws caught him across the chest.


"Oh, thank you so much, Shawn!" The little old lady cuddled her monster of a cat, babbling at it, as she turned around and slammed the door behind her, leaving him gaping out in the hallway. An hour of effort and pain, and that was all he got?

Shawn limped back to his own door and put his hand on the knob to open it, when he realized something: it was locked, and he didn't have the keys.


After five minutes quiet swearing, three searching for the keys or a phone on his person, twelve spent trying to pick the lock with various little objects from his shoes or the ground, and seven minutes slowly banging his head against the wall, Shawn came up with a solution.

The fire escape.

He left the building and looked up at the metal construction. Taking a deep breath, he bent close to the ground, wincing when his ankle twinged, then jumped up, just barely managing to catch hold of the bottom rung with one hand.

Silently cursing the fact that all his building had was a ladder going up the side, he flexed his arm, pulling up into a chin-up, and threw his other arm up to the second rung.

He could practically feel his muscles ripping by the time he reached the third rung, and his hands were slippery with sweat by the fifth, causing him to almost fall. Luckily, by the sixth he was able to use his feet – or, foot, since his left ankle was throbbing and putting weight on it didn't even bear thinking about now.

Shawn glanced up from the tenth rung, nearly weeping at the sight of the ledge next to his window, and thanked God that he only lived on the second floor.

Flopping onto the ledge, he lay panting on it for several minutes, finally rolling over onto his side and reaching over to open his window.

It was locked.

"Oh no, I do not have time for this!" Shawn grunted, and he drew back a fist – nearly crying out when his tired muscles protested the movement – and punched in the glass, reaching around to unlock it from the inside.

Though he was careful about removing his hand from the window, some broken glass still cut his hand, and it began to bleed furiously. Shawn just laughed and pushed the window open, crawling into his apartment.

Once inside, he stripped off his now-ruined shirt and wrapped his hand in it, before sitting back against the wall with his eyes closed.


In the shower, he assessed his injuries.

His ankle was twisted; luckily, he had an ankle brace in his bedroom, so as long as he didn't run or put too much weight on it, that wouldn't be a big problem. His chest and arms were covered in scratches and scrapes from the cat, fence, and tree, and there were some on his legs from when the dog had jumped up on him, but none of them were bleeding badly. All they needed was some antiseptic and they'd be fine.

His worse problems were both from the climb to his apartment; the cut on his hand was bleeding pretty badly, and he would have to wrap it up in gauze at the very least. And the muscles in his upper arms were aching, probably pulled; he couldn't even put his arms above shoulder level. Still, years of injuries told him he wouldn't need to go to the doctor; given time, they'd heal fine on their own, and there was nothing else he could do.

When he got out and finished tending to all his injuries, he looked at the clock and was shocked to realize it was only 5:30.


He passed the time watching TV, twiddling his thumbs, and playing computer games, but found that he wasn't really in the mood for any of his usual time-wasters. By 7:00, he'd had enough and he limped to his feet, snatching his keys and suede jacket, along with his wallet, thinking he'd go get some food and head down to the police station to see if anyone had a case for him.

He remembered Gus was out of town even as he finished dialing his friend's number, and cursed again, resigning himself to having to drive his motorcycle with his hurt hand and foot.

Oh well, at least it wasn't raining.


7:45AM, Outside Police Station

A dripping wet Shawn Spencer squelched his tired way into a coffee shop, cursing karma. What other explanation was there for this horror of a day?

He was even more annoyed at finding out that the shop was out of their usual pineapple coffee cake, and ended up buying only a large, black coffee, hoping it would wake him up and restore his usual optimistic, cheerful attitude.

Luckily the coffee shop was just across the street from the police station, so he made the dash to the dry station, shivering from the rain.

He made his way to the Chief's office, clutching his coffee close to his mouth, and only nodding at various people rather than greeting them by name, as he usually did. Pushing open the door with his hip, he slid almost-silently into the room, shuffling forward to a seat.

Pasting a grin on his face, he glanced around at Lassiter, Karen, and Juliet. "Hey, how's – " he only got out two words before the Chief threw a desperate glance at Lassiter, who instantly stood and plucked the coffee from Shawn's hands, tossing it in the trash.

"I won't have a caffeinated Spencer on my hands if I can help it!" he growled.

Shawn blinked in shock, then looked towards the two women. Karen shot him a look that said she clearly agreed with Lassiter, and while Juliet looked a little sympathetic, the main emotion on her face was amusement.

Shawn opened his mouth to say something, paused, then shut it with a sigh. Slumping forward into his seat, he allowed his head to fall forward onto the desk. At this, everyone else in the room rolled their eyes, but waited for the punch-line; the "I'm dead" or "thanks, Lassy", or flailing around – but after three minutes of silence, they all began to frown.

Juliet leaned in close. "Shawn? Are you okay?" He ignored her.

Lassiter walked forward, gripping Shawn's left shoulder and pulling him upward. "All right, that's enough – " he managed to say before Shawn let out a hoarse yell, pulling away from him. Confused, the man gripped tighter, but only provoked another yell of pain.

He let go, and Shawn stumbled out of his chair, away from Lassiter. He reached his hands up to rub at his shoulder – but stopped with a wince before they reached it.

At this, Lassiter rolled his eyes. "What, are you having a 'vision'?" he sneered.

Shawn ignored him, closing his eyes tightly for a few seconds before turning to the Chief, forcing a weak smile. "So, got any cases for me?" he asked, then sneezed.

Karen slowly shook her head. "…No, Mr. Spencer, I think you'd better go home. Are you sick?"

Shawn groaned. "No! I'm just bored, and I need a good case to distract me, that's all!"

Karen shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Spencer. You should probably leave now."

Shawn looked like he was going to protest, but after a long, tense moment, he muttered "Fine!" with a pouty face, and left the room.


Though it was no longer raining, his motorcycle wouldn't start. Shawn swore loudly, kicked it, then whimpered with tears in his eyes as his ankle protested the action.

Allowing himself to sit down on the curb, he pulled out his cell phone to call for a ride. It rang twice, as usual, before his father picked up. "Hello?"

"Dad – "

"Shawn, I've been meaning to talk to you. I want you to come over here and sort through all of this crap you left in my attic! And while you're up there you might as well clean it out. Think of it as an advance for the next time you ask me for help."

Shawn muttered, "Fine, fine, fine, fine…" the entire time Henry was speaking, and eventually the man quieted. "Look, Dad… Can you pick me up? My bike isn't working and Gus is out of town. I'm at the station."

Henry laughed. "Of course. Of course you're calling for a favor!"


"Fine. But I'll have you know you're cutting out a valuable chunk of my day."

Shawn didn't bother with the retort on his tongue, just closing the phone and closing his eyes.


He woke up when Lassiter bumped into him and his phone fell from his fingers, and down through a grate at his feet.

"No! Damn it!"

Lassiter and Juliet both turned and noticed him for apparently the first time.

"Still waiting for a case? Sorry Spencer, you aren't about to get one… Even though we have several good ones already." Chuckled Lassiter smugly.

Shawn slowly pushed himself to his feet, and limped straight toward Lassiter and Juliet, a thunderous look on his face.

"That. Is. It! That is all I am putting up with! If either of you observant detectives ever took the time to look at people, you might have noticed that I'm limping, I have a bandage around my hand, I'm dripping wet, and I'm here before ten o'clock, all of which should tell you that I… am not having a good day!"

He laughed weakly at their expressions of shock. "Oh, but no, neither of you bother to actually notice anything! You're too busy taking potshots at me the one day I look like I'm having less fun than you, Lassiter, which is almost a statistic impossibility – and you, you might be worse, Juliet, because at least you don't say you hate me! You are supposed to be my friend, and friends tend to notice when friends are unhappy! Except for you; it seems like you prefer to laugh at my misfortune! Gee, thanks for the info, O'Hara!"

Shawn took a deep breath, then expelled it in a wave of foul language that would make a sailor blush.


Several seconds later a pick-up pulled up, and Henry Spencer jumped out. He took one look at the shocked detectives and his son verbally attacking them, and his face fell. "Oh, no."

Shawn whirled on him. "Oh, hi Dad! Are you gonna yell at me now – 'Shawn, you can't tell anyone what you really think! Shawn, if you had been a cop this wouldn't have happened to you! Shawn –' "

Henry ignored him, speaking to the detectives as he came forward to Shawn, taking his son by the elbow and trying to pull him towards the car. "Sorry… I probably should have warned you when he started working here, but I honestly didn't think he'd be around long enough for this to happen."

Lassiter looked at him. "What exactly… is this?"

Henry spoke over Shawn, who was now swearing repeatedly. "Normally, bad stuff just rolls off his back, but every now and then it piles up and he, well, sort of explodes. It's only happened about five or six times, but…" he turned to Shawn. "Shawn, shut UP!" Shawn shut his mouth in surprise, staring at his father. "Go wait in the car."

Shawn glared venomously at Henry, but yanked his arm free, doing as he said. Lassiter and Juliet watched in amazement. Henry turned back to them. "Sorry. Anyway, you can normally tell when it's going to happen because he gets very quiet and starts drinking a lot of coffee." Lassiter's eyes widened in guilt, but he didn't say anything.

Henry shrugged. "I'd better get him home, away from people. He can be…"

Over next to the car, Shawn threw a rock at a pole, hitting it with a loud clang!

Henry rushed off after him without another word, leaving the two detectives alone, feeling guilty.


Shawn had been silent the entire car ride, sulking. When they finally reached Henry's house, Henry turned to him. "All right, tell me what happened."

Shawn shook his head silently, getting out of the car and silently limping up to the house.

Henry watched him go and sighed.


11:00AM, Henry's House

"Do you want to come with me, Shawn? I'm going to the bank."

Shawn still hadn't spoken, but he nodded and got up from where he had been sitting on the couch. The passage of time had helped his mood a little bit, though not much; and he still refused to say a word to Henry.

Henry sighed again as he got into the car. He hated when this happened.


Shawn shouldn't have been surprised. After all, on a day like this, it just figured there would be a bank robbery, didn't it? But what he hadn't expected was the man with the gun recognizing him.

"Psychic! I want the psychic!" he yelled, and Shawn blinked. Henry shouted something back, but Shawn's eyes were already taking in the man's trigger finger pressing in just a little as it was held against the captive child's head, and he began to limp forward.

"You got me, man, calm down… Let the kid go, okay? I'm only coming if you let the kid go."

The thug shoved the child away from him, at the same time grabbing Shawn by the upper arm and pulling him close, pressing the gun against his ear. Shawn swallowed when he felt the cool metal, and tears came to his eyes when he was yanked around, but he bit his lips and didn't say a word.

His face was stony as he was led out of the bank, directly past several policemen, including Juliet and Lassiter, who stared at him, horrified. Shawn shrugged slightly at them as if to say, 'what can you expect?' He was surprised to see TV crews outside too, videotaping the whole thing. Apparently the robber had been holding them all captive longer than Shawn had realized, if there was time for the news to arrive. He shot them a small smile before crying out in pain as he was roughly shoved into the back of a van.

Instantly they were driving away, and being pursued, but Shawn was unaware of all of this; the moment he fell into the car and the doors slammed closed behind him, a second thug hit him hard on the back of the head and he fell unconscious.


11:25AM, Basement

Shawn woke slowly, in a great amount of pain, both from his head and from his arms, which were currently strung up above his head in handcuffs, which were in turn attached to chains dangling from some sort of pulley. Shawn felt tears come to his eyes when he tried to shift, his pulled muscles screaming protests to the motion.

He took one deep, slow breath, and raised his head, trying to suppress the pain as his eyes met those of a beautiful red-headed woman. He blinked in surprise. "Hi Sophie."