Fic: "Burton Guster's Survival Handbook (1/?)"
Fandom: Psych
Title: Burton Guster's Survival Handbook
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gus/Shawn
Warnings: Pure fluffy humor.
Spoilers: None
Word Count: ~1500
Notes: I fully intend to add more to this, but I've run out of ideas.
Summary: After two and a half decades with Shawn, Gus learned there are certain rules to follow if he wants to keep his sanity.
Rule 1: A background in basic medical knowledge is required, as is a jumbo sized first-aid kit.
"Ow ow ow ow ow ow! Guuuuuuus!"
"Well, stay still then and it'll be over quicker!"
Shawn sulked, but kept his leg still. Gus rolled his eyes at the quivering lip and continued with his task. The stick had dug itself almost half an inch into Shawn's knee, making for a nasty wound. Of course the five-year-old in the thirty-year-old body had outright refused a trip to the clinic, especially since he'd been there just last week. Thus, Gus was given the task of digging out the splinters and cleaning the skin, along with trying to keep a whining Shawn occupied so he'd stop squirming.
"Don't know what the hell you were thinking anyway. I should be taking you to a mental hospital," He muttered while gently cleaning the skin around the cut.
"Hey!" Shawn was giving him his best glare and would no doubt out right refuse to ever admit that he pouted. "It stole my pineapple!"
"So you chased it up a tree?!" Gus finished wrapping up the wound and stood to walk back to the car. "I don't think squirrels even eat pineapple!"
Rule 2: Keep the fire department, hazard control, and emergency room on speed dial.
When Gus woke up, his eyes were watery and his throat was starting to burn. Instinctively, after two point five decades with Shawn, he grabbed his cell phone before leaving the bedroom.
As he opened the door leading to the hall, a cream colored smoke wafted inside and the burning got worse. He grabbed an extra shirt and tied it around his face, and made sure to keep low as he exited the room. "Shawn!" Gus called out, getting worried.
"Kit-en!" He heard a muffled voice come from down the hall.
"Kitten?" He whispered to himself. Then, louder, "You're trying to blame this on a kitten?! We don't even have cat!"
Some coughing was heard, then a clearer, though strained voice. "Kitchen!"
When he came to the mentioned room, Gus' eyes widened at the sight. The entire kitchen was filled with the cream smoke. Kneeling and crawling along the floor did little to help keep him from inhaling the smoke. Finally, he found his target curled up by the refrigerator. "Shawn!" He took the shirt from around his face and put it over Shawn's mouth and nose.
"Oh god Gus, I'm blind! I don't wanna be blind! Well, I mean, if I can be like Daredevil blind, that'd be cool. And we already know I make a bitchin' lawyer. But we live in California! Have you ever tried to wear leather in California?! And we don't have nearly enough tall buildings for me to jump around on! It's not dark and mysterious if I have to take the bus, is it? I don't wanna have to move to New York Gus, it'll ruin my complexion!"
As Shawn babbled, Gus steered them both out of the kitchen. Once they made it out to the second floor landing, he guided Shawn down the stairs and sat him on the sidewalk outside the apartment building. After making sure Shawn wouldn't be dying any time soon, he took out his cell, hit speed dial two, and asked for Dave.
--twenty minutes later--
"MUSTARD GAS?! Shawn! Why the hell did you have an urge to make mustard gas?!"
"...I read it on the internet..."
Rule 3: Hard hats and/or helmets are recommended at all times...but human shields work just as well.
Gus inconspicuously inched his way behind Juliet with all the manliness of a fluffy bunny cornered by wolves. If he'd known Shawn was going to be this bad, he would have stayed outside where there were plenty of witnesses. Of course, Shawn trying to persuade him to pull into Petsmart for 'supplies' should have been a clue. Lassiter's hand twitched towards his holster, making Gus flinch.
He watched as the chief's face grew redder by the second. The purple vein at her hairline throbbed mercilessly as the man turned bird flapped his arms in front of her. An alarm, vaguely reminiscent of The Terminator, sounded off in his head. Deafcon 4! Ten seconds to total destruction. I just can't do it cap'n, she's gonna blow! God, where's a foxhole when you need one?
Shawn, oblivious to it all, continued to bark, moo, quack, and, why yes, that was the Chicken Dance. Gus heaved a mental sigh. 3...2...1...
"Mr. Spencer! Get to the point!"
Shawn stopped mid-howl and blinked. "Oh. It was the farmer."
The stress ball aimed at Shawn attempted to make contact at mach five. Luckily, a life time of causing riots (complete with flying objects and the occasional pitchfork) had honed Shawn's evasive reflexes. Gus finally left the safety of Juliet's shadow to grab his apparently suicidal partner and beat a hasty retreat. He didn't lose his vice grip on Shawn's wrist until in plain view of other citizens.
"Jeez! Gus, I think you should give the chief some tips on Lamaze. She obviously never paid attention in her classes."
Rule 4: Military-grade code decryption may be necessary during conversations.
Gus closed his eyes and laid back against the pillows, still panting slightly, while Shawn snuggled into his side. His lover pressed a light kiss to Gus' chest and mumbled. "Mmm...you're like my homosexual chocolate bar."
His eyes snapped open and he glared down at the mop of brown hair in confusion. "...What the hell did you just call me?"
"What? Cocoa is a natural stimulant, you told me so! And let me tell ya, you get my pulse going." Shawn put his chin on Gus' chest and looked up at him with much too innocent eyes that screamed 'beware!'
"...Shawn." Gus let his head fall back with a groan.
"I don't suppose it'll help any if I say you have a delicious cream filling and large nu--"
"Shawn!"
"--Almonds! I was gonna say almonds!"
"..."
Shawn sat up and bit his lip lightly, while Gus narrowed his eyes. "Will you be more or less annoyed if I said that, if it was possible, I'd be willing to have your caramel baby?"
"..."
"Just think about it! We could have a sweet little girl and she'll be our little Baby Ruth. Oh! Or Almond Joy...Joy Almond?" Shawn pondered for a minute, glancing at Gus' nether regions, before averting his eyes and giving a shiver. "Actually, that joke would be a little too creepy even for me. But if we get a boy, we can name him Heath! And really, as much as I love Jackie-boy, that dude was the best Joker ever. Or--"
Gus cut him off, pulling Shawn back down on top of him for a kiss. "Shawn, if you want to talk about having kids, just say so."
Rule 5: Moral flexibility was, in fact, in the job description. (Read the fine print...)
Gus shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the cuffs of his suit. This was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea. This was beyond the realm of bad ideas, it was such a bad idea. He couldn't help asking himself why he was doing this, as he straightened nonexistent wrinkles and looked about nervously.
"Shawn, this is a bad idea."
A sigh was heard from beside him. "I stopped counting how many times you've said that after twenty-eight."
"Because it's a G--" He stopped and glanced around, and up, in a fairly paranoid fashion. "This is a very bad idea!" He whispered furiously.
"...Why are you whispering?" Shawn bit his lip at the fierce glare he got in response. "Oh come on man, it's not that bad."
"Has it even gotten into you're, admittedly thick, skull exactly what we're doing?!"
"Jeez, Gus. It's not like we're committing murder or anything. Besides, you talk to the guy like everyday, so obviously you've got good rapport with him."
"Shawn!" Shawn rolled his eyes at Gus' indignant expression.
"You'll be forgiven! Now stop getting your colon in a bunch."
Gus returned the eye roll, before resuming his nervous shifting. "This is never gonna work. He won't fall for it."
"Dude, this guy saw the devil in his mashed potatoes. Have you forgotten that we've been fooling an entire police department for two years?" Shawn smirked as he knocked on the door in front of them.
"If we go to hell for this, you'll be begging for pits of fire when I'm through with you, Shawn," He muttered, before smiling at the man who answered.
"Oh, hello fathers. Please come in." The man waved them inside.
"Ah, bless ye me child," Shawn said with a bright smile and horrible Irish accent.
Gus tugged on the collar around his neck and muttered to himself. "God, this is such a bad idea."
Title: Burton Guster's Survival Handbook
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gus/Shawn
Warnings: Pure fluffy humor.
Spoilers: None
Word Count: ~1500
Notes: I fully intend to add more to this, but I've run out of ideas.
Summary: After two and a half decades with Shawn, Gus learned there are certain rules to follow if he wants to keep his sanity.
Rule 1: A background in basic medical knowledge is required, as is a jumbo sized first-aid kit.
"Ow ow ow ow ow ow! Guuuuuuus!"
"Well, stay still then and it'll be over quicker!"
Shawn sulked, but kept his leg still. Gus rolled his eyes at the quivering lip and continued with his task. The stick had dug itself almost half an inch into Shawn's knee, making for a nasty wound. Of course the five-year-old in the thirty-year-old body had outright refused a trip to the clinic, especially since he'd been there just last week. Thus, Gus was given the task of digging out the splinters and cleaning the skin, along with trying to keep a whining Shawn occupied so he'd stop squirming.
"Don't know what the hell you were thinking anyway. I should be taking you to a mental hospital," He muttered while gently cleaning the skin around the cut.
"Hey!" Shawn was giving him his best glare and would no doubt out right refuse to ever admit that he pouted. "It stole my pineapple!"
"So you chased it up a tree?!" Gus finished wrapping up the wound and stood to walk back to the car. "I don't think squirrels even eat pineapple!"
Rule 2: Keep the fire department, hazard control, and emergency room on speed dial.
When Gus woke up, his eyes were watery and his throat was starting to burn. Instinctively, after two point five decades with Shawn, he grabbed his cell phone before leaving the bedroom.
As he opened the door leading to the hall, a cream colored smoke wafted inside and the burning got worse. He grabbed an extra shirt and tied it around his face, and made sure to keep low as he exited the room. "Shawn!" Gus called out, getting worried.
"Kit-en!" He heard a muffled voice come from down the hall.
"Kitten?" He whispered to himself. Then, louder, "You're trying to blame this on a kitten?! We don't even have cat!"
Some coughing was heard, then a clearer, though strained voice. "Kitchen!"
When he came to the mentioned room, Gus' eyes widened at the sight. The entire kitchen was filled with the cream smoke. Kneeling and crawling along the floor did little to help keep him from inhaling the smoke. Finally, he found his target curled up by the refrigerator. "Shawn!" He took the shirt from around his face and put it over Shawn's mouth and nose.
"Oh god Gus, I'm blind! I don't wanna be blind! Well, I mean, if I can be like Daredevil blind, that'd be cool. And we already know I make a bitchin' lawyer. But we live in California! Have you ever tried to wear leather in California?! And we don't have nearly enough tall buildings for me to jump around on! It's not dark and mysterious if I have to take the bus, is it? I don't wanna have to move to New York Gus, it'll ruin my complexion!"
As Shawn babbled, Gus steered them both out of the kitchen. Once they made it out to the second floor landing, he guided Shawn down the stairs and sat him on the sidewalk outside the apartment building. After making sure Shawn wouldn't be dying any time soon, he took out his cell, hit speed dial two, and asked for Dave.
--twenty minutes later--
"MUSTARD GAS?! Shawn! Why the hell did you have an urge to make mustard gas?!"
"...I read it on the internet..."
Rule 3: Hard hats and/or helmets are recommended at all times...but human shields work just as well.
Gus inconspicuously inched his way behind Juliet with all the manliness of a fluffy bunny cornered by wolves. If he'd known Shawn was going to be this bad, he would have stayed outside where there were plenty of witnesses. Of course, Shawn trying to persuade him to pull into Petsmart for 'supplies' should have been a clue. Lassiter's hand twitched towards his holster, making Gus flinch.
He watched as the chief's face grew redder by the second. The purple vein at her hairline throbbed mercilessly as the man turned bird flapped his arms in front of her. An alarm, vaguely reminiscent of The Terminator, sounded off in his head. Deafcon 4! Ten seconds to total destruction. I just can't do it cap'n, she's gonna blow! God, where's a foxhole when you need one?
Shawn, oblivious to it all, continued to bark, moo, quack, and, why yes, that was the Chicken Dance. Gus heaved a mental sigh. 3...2...1...
"Mr. Spencer! Get to the point!"
Shawn stopped mid-howl and blinked. "Oh. It was the farmer."
The stress ball aimed at Shawn attempted to make contact at mach five. Luckily, a life time of causing riots (complete with flying objects and the occasional pitchfork) had honed Shawn's evasive reflexes. Gus finally left the safety of Juliet's shadow to grab his apparently suicidal partner and beat a hasty retreat. He didn't lose his vice grip on Shawn's wrist until in plain view of other citizens.
"Jeez! Gus, I think you should give the chief some tips on Lamaze. She obviously never paid attention in her classes."
Rule 4: Military-grade code decryption may be necessary during conversations.
Gus closed his eyes and laid back against the pillows, still panting slightly, while Shawn snuggled into his side. His lover pressed a light kiss to Gus' chest and mumbled. "Mmm...you're like my homosexual chocolate bar."
His eyes snapped open and he glared down at the mop of brown hair in confusion. "...What the hell did you just call me?"
"What? Cocoa is a natural stimulant, you told me so! And let me tell ya, you get my pulse going." Shawn put his chin on Gus' chest and looked up at him with much too innocent eyes that screamed 'beware!'
"...Shawn." Gus let his head fall back with a groan.
"I don't suppose it'll help any if I say you have a delicious cream filling and large nu--"
"Shawn!"
"--Almonds! I was gonna say almonds!"
"..."
Shawn sat up and bit his lip lightly, while Gus narrowed his eyes. "Will you be more or less annoyed if I said that, if it was possible, I'd be willing to have your caramel baby?"
"..."
"Just think about it! We could have a sweet little girl and she'll be our little Baby Ruth. Oh! Or Almond Joy...Joy Almond?" Shawn pondered for a minute, glancing at Gus' nether regions, before averting his eyes and giving a shiver. "Actually, that joke would be a little too creepy even for me. But if we get a boy, we can name him Heath! And really, as much as I love Jackie-boy, that dude was the best Joker ever. Or--"
Gus cut him off, pulling Shawn back down on top of him for a kiss. "Shawn, if you want to talk about having kids, just say so."
Rule 5: Moral flexibility was, in fact, in the job description. (Read the fine print...)
Gus shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the cuffs of his suit. This was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea. This was beyond the realm of bad ideas, it was such a bad idea. He couldn't help asking himself why he was doing this, as he straightened nonexistent wrinkles and looked about nervously.
"Shawn, this is a bad idea."
A sigh was heard from beside him. "I stopped counting how many times you've said that after twenty-eight."
"Because it's a G--" He stopped and glanced around, and up, in a fairly paranoid fashion. "This is a very bad idea!" He whispered furiously.
"...Why are you whispering?" Shawn bit his lip at the fierce glare he got in response. "Oh come on man, it's not that bad."
"Has it even gotten into you're, admittedly thick, skull exactly what we're doing?!"
"Jeez, Gus. It's not like we're committing murder or anything. Besides, you talk to the guy like everyday, so obviously you've got good rapport with him."
"Shawn!" Shawn rolled his eyes at Gus' indignant expression.
"You'll be forgiven! Now stop getting your colon in a bunch."
Gus returned the eye roll, before resuming his nervous shifting. "This is never gonna work. He won't fall for it."
"Dude, this guy saw the devil in his mashed potatoes. Have you forgotten that we've been fooling an entire police department for two years?" Shawn smirked as he knocked on the door in front of them.
"If we go to hell for this, you'll be begging for pits of fire when I'm through with you, Shawn," He muttered, before smiling at the man who answered.
"Oh, hello fathers. Please come in." The man waved them inside.
"Ah, bless ye me child," Shawn said with a bright smile and horrible Irish accent.
Gus tugged on the collar around his neck and muttered to himself. "God, this is such a bad idea."