musicalluna | 003 Death - Blood in the Water (And Everywhere Else, Too)

Title: 003 Death - Blood in the Water (And Everywhere Else, Too)
Fandom: Psych
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Shawn
Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: Blood. Although if you don't know that by now...
Complete: Yes
Summary: Shawn is approached by a tall, dark figure.
A/N: YAY MOR BLUD.This one was difficult. :D
Disclaimer: As much as I love making these guys bleed, I am sadly not their owner.

“Holy shi—“

Shawn staggered back away from the towering black figure that had just come sliding out of the darkness from somewhere off to his left. His foot caught the curb behind him at an awkward angle and he lost his balance, letting out a sharp, gritted curse as he landed hard on his ass. His elbows screamed with pain as they hit the concrete sidewalk, shearing off a good centimeter of epidermis from his forearms.

“Uuh!” he grunted through clenched teeth, his face contorted into a grimace. “Ow, jeez, dude! Do you mind?”

The “dude” in question stepped closer, dark black robes billowing out over the toes of Shawn's sneakers. Shawn looked up, up, and still further up before finally muttering, “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Within the folds draped around the figure's head, the pale white shape of a human skull looked down at him, surveying him without emotion. Thin, bony fingers wrapped around the shaft of a six foot tall scythe, the blade's own two and a half feet gleaming in the light cast from the street lights near the office.

Shawn pushed up into a sitting position, grimacing at the answering throb of pain from his backside. That was going to be one hell of a bruise. He looked back up at the figure. “You do realize it's like...seven days until Halloween, right?”

The figure said nothing.

Shawn sighed. He really hoped this guy didn't think he was buying this whole “Death” charade, because even if it was dark, he could see the dark gloves that the bony fingers were printed on, and knew instinctively that the facial features of the skull jutted out too far past the shoulders to be realistic.

He glanced at his elbows, grimacing at the blood trickling down the insides of his arms and, feeling a lot less charitable than he had about five seconds ago, said impatiently, “Look, my girlfriend is already going to be unhappy about the fact that I'm bleeding, let alone if I get home late.” He glanced up and down the ensemble. “Come back in seven days and I'll pay you to scare the crap out of my partner.”

Still no reply.

Shawn's mouth twisted into a frown. “Or not,” he muttered. He got to his feet, wincing at the bolt of pain that the bruising on his tailbone sent jittering down his leg. “Okay then, Mr. Death. I'm gonna go now. You have a nice night.”

He glanced down to tug his keys out of his pocket and when he looked back up, the scythe had come down, top hitting his throat just under his chin and pushing back until Shawn had stumbled back to the wall. A rush of fear finally flooded in through Shawn's system. He swallowed and felt the blade pinch at his skin slightly, scraping over the stubble growing on his throat.

“Shawn Spencer,” 'Death' growled in a low gravelly voice, “you have been slated to die.”

Everything suddenly snapped into place. In just a few seconds, Shawn flashed through the crime scene photos of the Slash-'Em-Up murderer case he'd been helping out with down at the station, four bodies, all cut from belly to breastbone by a long, sharp blade, the dark figure witnesses had mentioned seeing, the floating skull at the second crime scene—

Shawn swallowed again, wincing slightly as the blade bit into his throat. “Uh—” He cleared his throat and then tried again, pointing down the street, “I've—uh—got other plans, dude.”

“Death is not concerned with your 'plans',” the figure murmured.

Before Shawn could react, 'Death' spun the scythe around, turning it so that the point rested just under Shawn's chin, the curve of the blade grazing the skin in the space between his clavicles. He barely stifled a whimper, pressing himself back against the wall of the office as hard as he could, trying to get even a fraction of an inch of space between his neck and the weapon.

But 'Death' was persistent.

The blade pressed closer and closer until the pressure was uncomfortable and still closer until it stung and then even closer until—

“NNAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Blood welled up, dribbling down his chest to where it soaked into the fabric of his shirt. He screamed again, whimpering as the scythe edged slowly downward. The entire world narrowed in on that single point of pain until there was nothing else left, so he didn't see Lassiter's car pull up, didn't see Juliet leap from the passenger's seat, didn't hear her scream his name.

The sound of a gunshot was enough to pry him back from the edge. He opened his eyes to see the black figure falling in a billow of dark robes, the scythe clattering to the sidewalk. A second later, Shawn followed, his knees reduced to little more than water.

“Shawn?!” Juliet shouted, and then she was there, hitting her knees beside him, her hands reaching for his head and shoulder, gently guiding his head back until he was gurgling strangled noises of agony. “Oh, Shawn,” she breathed. He just whimpered in response.

Her hands started moving again and he recognized the sound of Lassiter snarling orders into the radio in the background, sirens starting to fade in out of the night quiet. There was a sharp ripping sound and then his shirt was sliding down his arms.

Juliet cursed softly and he glanced down, realizing with a shock that his hands were crisscrossed with deep, vivid red cuts. The rational part of his brain recognized that they had to have come from grabbing the scythe, but he couldn't remember doing it, couldn't even remember the feeling of the blade slicing into his fingers. Juliet got past it much more quickly, stripping off his shirt efficiently and pressing it against the bloody center of his chest. He moaned, writhing away from the pressure.

“Hold still, Shawn,” Juliet said, her voice suddenly brittle. “I have to apply pressure or you're going to bleed out, okay? Just hold still. It's all going to be okay. The paramedics will be here soon.”

The last thing he remembered seeing were her wide blue eyes.