Fixer-Uppers

[musicalluna]

Title: Fixer-Uppers 
Fandom: Psych
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: eT
Characters/Pairings: Shawn, Gus/None
Genre: Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: None.
Complete: Yes
Summary: Shawn and Gus are (not so greviously) injured after a little incident at a bar and have a grown-up talk about what happened. *snorts* Yeah, right.
A/N: Yay, whump!
Disclaimer: I don't own Shawn. I would probably sell portions of all of my internal organs in order to aquire them, but I haven't yet gone to such measures to attain ownership. Watch out. Someday; someday I may...

 

"Ow! Ouch, Shawn! Hey!"

Shawn rolled his eyes as he swabbed the cut on Gus’ cheek with peroxide. "Don’t be such a baby."

Gus glared and said, "You don’t be such a baby!"

Shawn rolled his eyes again and tossed the cotton swab in the trash before carefully leaning forward and putting a few small butterflies across the cut, Gus hissing as he pushed the edges together. Then he sat back, hands going up triumphantly. "There. All better."

"Thanks." As Gus leaned over to take the bottle of peroxide and a cotton ball, Shawn pulled the icepack away from the blooming bruise on his jaw and held it up to the one forming on Gus’ cheekbone. Gus poured a bit of the peroxide onto a cotton ball and began wiping the cut over his eye, saying, "This is totally your fault, you know that, right?"

Shawn rolled his eyes and then grimaced as the peroxide stung particularly sharply. "Dude, those guys were so out of line."

"Shawn, you told the guy that his motorcycle—his prized possession—"

"And his ‘house’ judging from the way he smelled."

"—was, and I quote, ‘A hideous piece of scrap metal that should be eaten by the Iron Giant so no one else has to suffer damage to their retinas from accidentally glancing at it’!"

"Ow, ow, Gus," Shawn whined as he began swabbing another cut, this one on Shawn’s knuckles.

"Now who’s being a baby?"

"Okay, so maybe I provoked him a little, but still! Who beats up a random stranger and his best friend for insulting them?"

"You told him your mother’s station wagon was cooler than his motorcycle, Shawn. And then you told him I keyed it because I was so appalled by its very existence. Which, by the way, was also you," he snapped.

Shawn shrugged, hissing as Gus prodded at one of the cuts on his knuckles which had somehow gotten a sliver of dark glass embedded in it. "You, me, what’s the difference?"

"Only everything."

"Ah, ow! OW!" Shawn yelped, trying to jerk his hand out of Gus’ grip. "What are you doing?! Torture is not the answer to our problems, Gus!"

Gus rolled his eyes, leaning down further to get a better look at his hand. "Shut up, Shawn. You’ve got a piece of something in this cut. Just hold still."

"Owie…" Shawn whimpered pathetically as Gus pulled the shard out with tweezers.

Gus snorted. "And you call me a baby. Seriously."

Shawn poofed out his bottom lip in a pout, staring at the blood now oozing from the wound. "Don’t mock my pain, Gus."

"Oh, please. You deserve it, Shawn. I’m pretty sure that’s a shard of some guy’s sunglasses." He put a bandage over the cuts on Shawn’s knuckles, taping it carefully in place.

"Wanna go get some beers and see if we can find a couple of girls who’ll fawn over us?"

"You know it," Gus replied, screwing the cap on the peroxide and Shawn grinned.

"I think I’ll tell them we were saving a puppy from being run over. Is that heroic sounding enough?"

"No, no, you’ve got to tell them it was a mother with puppies. And it was a semi. And you ran across four lanes of traffic."

"Oooh, see, this is why I keep you around Gus!"

The door of the office closed quietly behind the two best friends.