A/N: My lovely attempt at Shawn!whump, because he's my favorite baby to abuse. This is my take on what happened a few nights after "Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark" because Psych doesn't give up nearly enough of a look into what happened, since the most upset you see Shawn is during the Yin Yang trilogy, his darkest time. But, I'm a sucker for angst, so what can I say? Enjoy!

Shawn was home again. Home from the hospital, anyway. It was a few days after... The Incident, as he had so affectionately named it. The Incident, patent pending, was the case where he experienced the same-old story and a brand new adventure he hadn't ever wanted to experience in his hopefully - but doubtfully - long life. He had been kidnapped - not a first, technically - and shot - definitely a first - and was still reeling from it all.

It was his first time alone and conscious since a few days ago when he had jumped from the bed of a truck to Lassie's brand-spanking new baby. It was a shame Shawn hadn't banged it up more, but then Lassie probably would have finished the job the two criminals had started and put a bullet through his head if he so much as thought about bleeding on it.

As much fun as thinking about how to ruin Lassie's day was, it wasn't enough of a distraction from the continuous replay of all that happened.

Curse his eidetic memory, though it did memorize take-out menus.

He remembered the throbbing of his wound when he fell from his adrenaline high. He remembered every harsh word spoken to him. He remembered the feeling of thinking he would not get out of there alive.

Shawn tore his eyes from his dark ceiling towards his cell phone, his new favorite object. Without it, he would be the newest edition to the highway gully. He picked it up, going to his contacts. He hadn't told Abigail what had happened yet. And neither had anyone else, per his request...

Maybe he should. She was his girlfriend, so she had a right to know, right? She'd find out one way or another, anyway, especially with his arm is a fucking sling. She thought he had been really wrapped up in a case - not that he had bothered to tell her otherwise when they talked on the phone earlier.

His thumb hovered over her name before his traitorous index finger locked the iPhone again.

Damn it.

Shawn's head fell back to hit the sofa, returning to his staring contest with the ceiling. One of these days, he would win.

"God damn it, why can't I just call her?" he wondered out loud, hand lifting the phone from his lap. "Because then she would be worried and want to talk it out," he muttered to himself, throwing the phone to the side. That's what he loved about his friends. They knew not to talk it out. Chief had asked if he needed a psychiatrist to help with the trauma of being shot and kidnapped twice, and that was about it.

While the experience did give him trust issues for mechanics and gas station owners (no more midnight stops at 7-11, no sir), he didn't believe he needed a psychiatrist. He was doing just fine on his own, right?

"No," was his sullen answer as he draped his arm over his eyes. "No, I'm not fine at all."

And he wasn't. He had been shot and kidnapped, for Christ's sake! He wasn't even sure if he would get out of there alive. He thought that, maybe, when Lassie and Henry had arrived, that he'd be saved. He'd be okay. But then they just walked off, damn it. They walked away and he thought he was doomed.

Absolutely no one, no matter what Lassie said, would be just fucking peachy after that.

Then there was the last call he thought he would make. Of course Shawn called the woman he loved. He could call her again, right now. Sure, it was two in the morning, but she would pick up and talk to him if he really needed it.

"No," he spoke to the darkness. "Not doing that. Haven't talked about a bothering case before, not going to start now." He hadn't talked about the Yin Yang case and how he had to push all of his numerous feelings aside to do what was right, not what he wanted to do.

In all honesty, he had wanted to strangle that woman with all his might. He had wanted to go home and make sure his mom was okay. He had wanted to talk to the waitress and apologize as much as his pride would let him about sucking her into this mess. He had wanted to leave Abigail there and have dinner with the girl of his dreams. He wanted to go home alone and cry like he was a child again. He had wanted to drown himself in the strongest stuff he had available in his fridge. He had wanted to do a lot of things.

None of them he actually did. That was usually how it turned out. That, or he did the thing he wanted with a lot of lies and confusing words involved, not to mention people who ended up pissed at him when they found out. He didn't want that this time. He just wanted to go home after a case without someone pissed at him.

As much fun as it was to push Lassie's or Juliet's or the Chief's buttons, it was not fun having the people you work with pissed at you for just being you. It was kind of disheartening, actually.

"No, stop. We are not going into that either," Shawn muttered. These feelings did nothing but bad. Feelings like these were why he distanced himself from cases and just made horrible jokes that made people question his qualifications. Inappropriate humor was better than feeling like shit, even if it made you an asshole.

At this point, he would just go out and hit on some ladies until one decided to take him home, to let him forget everything. But no, he was in a committed relationship now. Even if he wasn't, he would think of Juliet no matter who he was with. He would feel dirty and guilty - more so than he usually did after nights like that.

So maybe he should settle for the next best thing- alcohol. Never failed him before.