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obsidiancreates · 4 months

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Henry Spencer Is A Bastard (With A Broken Nose)

Shawn and Jules have been living together for two weeks when Jules storms into the precinct, grabs Lassiter by the arm, and drags him into the interrogation room.

“O’Hara, what the hell is-”

“You’ve spent time alone with Henry,” she says, sitting Lassiter in the suspect chair. “What was he like?”

“What?”

“This is important, Carlton.”

Lassiter sighs, looking around the room for a moment before answering. “Unpleasant and judgemental. He had every quality of a great cop but none of an actual person I’d spend time with.”

“Which for you is saying something,” Jules mumbles, looking to the side. “Would-would you say you think he’s capable of intentional child endangerment or neglect?”

Lassiter sits up more. “What? O’Hara, what is this about?”

Jules takes a deep breath, looking down at her hands. “I was helping Shawn get some stuff from his old room, and we found an old journal from when he was a kid.It was mostly just doodles and half-finished homework, and he said to just throw it away, but… I kept it. I thought it was cute, to be able to look at what went through his brain as a kid.”

“O’Hara. If you’re alleging what I think-”

“I read more later while he was out with Gus and one of the pages was a failed writing assignment. He was supposed to write about what he did over the weekend and he wrote that his dad locked him a trunk and made him pretend to be kidnapped.”

Lassiter lets out a breath. “Okay. But you and I both know Spencer’s imagination-”

“Carlton, remember the kicked-out tailight? When he got shot?”

“O’Hara, I was with Henry through that whole investigation, and I don’t think I can say that the man I investigated with would purposefully hurt or neglect his son. He was like a machine through the whole thing.”

“There was more, though, Carlton. One of the assignments was to write about how they spent Easter and Shawn’s said he got cut on some glass trying to dig up his eggs. He drew a picture, it-”

She pulls out her phone and hands it to her partner. Lassiter looks at a crude drawing of a small stick figure on it’s hands and knees, overly-large shards on the ground in front of it, and an egg a good few lines below it. There’s a taller stick figure behind the small one, with a wide-open mouth and the words ‘You can do better, Shawn,’ written beside it.

The teacher’s note on the side says that Shawn needs to stop making up stories for assignments about his real life.

Lassiter hands the phone back. “O’Hara…”

Jules sits back in her chair a bit, the tension giving way to a slumped tiredness. “I know they’ve never had an… easy relationship, but Henry has always been so present, ever since we’ve known Shawn. I thought that was a good thing and Shawn’s discomfort was just Shawn being… Shawn.” She looks down at her hand in guilt. “What if I completely missed that he has reason, Carlton?”

Lassiter grabs one of Jules’s hands. “O’Hara, Henry Spencer is a bitter, unlikeable, and overbearing old man- but I really don’t think he’s capable of child abuse.”

Jules holds his hand back and gives it a squeeze. “I just… don’t know how to ask Shawn if these are real. He’s not exactly forthcoming about messy emotions and memories.”

Lassiter nods, and then blinks. “So let’s ask Guster. They’ve been stuck together like flies on a flytrap forever.”

Jules shakes her head. “If Shawn isn’t going to say anything, I really don’t think Gus will.”

“Well, you can either ask Guster if these are real, or you can worry about it forever and never get any answers.” Lassiter knows his partner well enough to know that’s unacceptable to her.

She gives his hand one more squeeze. “I’m just worried. Henry works here. He’s in charge of Shawn.”

“And I’m sure that when we talk to Guster about all this, we’ll learn that Spencer was just exaggerating like he always does.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gus reads the page with wide eyes. “Wait, he was serious about that?”

Lassiter stifles the urge to shout ‘Come on!’ when he hears Jules suck in a breath.

“You mean you knew about this already?”

“I mean, Shawn told me once that he liked Easter at my house way more because there was no ‘manhunt training’, but I thought he just meant something like when his dad would have him stakeout their porch.”

“He what?”

“It, sounds worse than it is. … I think.” Gus looks down at the old notebook again. “I thought. … I mean, Henry was always a little intense. When Shawn and I were boyscouts he used to set up challenges that were impossible to win, and then make us feel bad for not winning.”

“What do you mean, impossible to win?” Lassiter is starting to get concerned now. Shawn’s incessant need to show everyone up has been a pain in his ass for years, and if Henry reinforced that grating attitude and now acts like he tried to quell it-

“Stuff like telling us to go find a rocket in the middle of the woods and then going and grabbing it himself. He used to promise us ice cream if we won, then say he’d eat it himself if we didn’t win next time.” Gus’s face pinches the more he talks about the memories. “Gosh, I haven’t thought about that in years. I guess I didn’t realize how messed up that is until I said it out loud.”

“It’s horrible,” Jules says.

“But not criminal,” Lassiter reminds her. “And as… weird and dangerous as the eggs thing is, that’s not criminal either. … I think.”

“What about the trunk, Carlton?”

“... Yeah, that part’s looking pretty bad.”

Gus shuts the notebook. “We need to talk to Shawn about this. I don’t know if I’m even remembering right, but I know he will.”

“He’d never open up about something like this,” Jules says, gesturing to the notebook and letting her arms drop back to her sides with a flop. “He barely tells me about his childhood at all.”

“Well I was there for most of it, and I need to make sure I didn’t miss some serious abuse going down for our entire lives. Do you know how many times I’ve defended his dad to him, Juliet? … Oh my god, on that same boyscout trip with the rocket, he told me his dad had never said he loved him!”

Lassiter doesn’t need to look at Jules to know she’s probably seething with the rage of the entire underworld- if he believed in such a thing.

Henry better hope they find out it’s not as bad as it’s seeming.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Shawn gets home, Jules, Lassiter, and Gus are all sitting on the couch looking somber. Well, Jules and Gus look somber. Lassiter looks mildly offput.

“Guys! What’s all this, are we having some kinda surprise party?” Shawn looks around for decorations, but there’s nothing. He looks back with excitement. “Is it a case? A big one?”

“Shawn, sit down, we need to ask you about something.” Jules gestures for him to take a seat on a different chair.

“Uh-oh. That’s not your happy voice.” Shawn sits down and leans forward. “Hey, babe, what’s wrong?”

Jules takes a deep breath, and pulls out the notebook. Shawn looks at it. “Oh, that? Please don’t tell me that my drawing skills when I was eight are a dealbreaker.”

“Shawn, did Henry…” Jules falters. Shawn’s expression…

It doesn’t harden, per say. It just… shifts. Becomes a little closed-off.

“Spencer, did Henry actually make you dig through broken glass to find ridiculous holiday candy?” Lassiter says, offering Jules his hand for support. She takes it.

Shawn’s mouth quirks up in the corner, a huff-laugh escaping him. His eyes aren’t as amused, a dark look in them. “What? How-how’d you know about that?”

“Oh my god.” Gus looks sick.

“Guys, seriously, what is this?” Shawn reaches out and snatches the notebook, flipping through it. Fast at first, and then slower. The slight smirk disappears completely, and Jules and Gus know that habit of sticking his tongue over his teeth means Shawn is not in a good emotional space whatsoever as he reads.

He closes the notebook and tosses it onto the coffee table, sitting back into the chair and sniffling. “It’s uh- it’s nothing.”

“Dude, that is not nothing. I thought you were making that stuff up when we were kids!”

“What? Why would I make that up?” That just seems to confuse Shawn.

“Because you were always making things up!”

“Not about my dad! You were like, the one person I could talk about him with! You thought I was lying about everything the whole time?” Now he looks hurt.

“Not everything, but crazy stuff like him locking you in a trunk in the middle of a hot day and putting broken glass over your eggs, yeah! Oh my go- this makes me look back on everything I know in a completely different light, Shawn!”

“Okay, you can’t actually be this surprised, Gus. I mean, you were at my house all the time, you know how he was. We couldn’t even play hide-and-seek without me getting a lecture about hunting perps the right way.” The bitterness in his voice is familiar to his friends, the way he keeps from meeting their eyes, the arms crossed over his chest and tense body language. It’s not that they’ve never seen him like this. But they’ve never seen him like this and truly understood it. Even Gus.

Gus, who looks increasingly horrified as he thinks back on more and more memories. “When we were really little and you told me your dad would throw you out for reading comics, were you serious?”

Shawn scoffs a little. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Did he actually ban them?”

“... Yeah. That part he did. He said they made cops look bad.”

“Good god, Spencer, you’re talking like everything in your house was about cops twenty-four-seven.”

“Gee, Lassie, I wonder why. You’ve met my dad, right?”

“But you’re talking like he expected you to be a perfect cop from the second you were born.”

Shawn goes silent. He still won’t look at any of them.

“Oh, my god.” Jules reaches out to put a hand on Shawn’s knee. “Shawn, did he expect that?”

“... Look, guys, it’s… it’s done, alright? It is what it is, and… I’ve accepted that, and I’m working on making things work with my dad. I don’t… I don’t need this. Okay? I don’t want to think about it and get all…” He huffs. “Last time I thought a little too hard about all this stuff I ended up on my motorcycle with nowhere to go, and-and I don’t want to do that again, alright?”

“Shawn, this is important. We’re all working with Henry constantly, watching how he treats you, and this changes how some of that looks.”

“How?” Shawn finally looks at Jules, right in the eyes. “How does this change anything? He’s the same person, Jules. He-he’s controlling, and-and expects way too much, and is disappointed in me. That’s not different now just because you know he went overboard with stuff when I was a kid.”

Lassiter lets out a deep breath. He’d really… really been hoping this wouldn’t be the case. “How overboard, Spencer?”

Shawn looks at Lassie, and then clicks his tongue and looks away again. “Not in that way, man. He never hit me or anything.”

“So what did he do?”

“Why is this an interrogation?” Shawn stands up, pulling away from Jules’s outstretched hand. “This is stuff for me, and my dad to hash out, okay? Just me and him.”

“Did your mom know about this stuff?” Gus asks.

The mention of his mom seems to make Shawn shut down even more. “Now this is really over.” He walks away, and pauses for just one second to turn around and say, “Don’t- don’t go my dad about all this. I don’t want…”

“... Don’t want what, Shawn?” Jules’s voice is soft and careful.

Shawn doesn’t seem to be able to find the end of the thought. He just shakes his head and walks back out the door.

The three sit in silence for a minute. Jules has tears in her eyes. Gus looks almost shellshocked.

Lassiter stands up. “Alright, I’m officially taking lead on this case.” He looks down at his partner. “O’Hara, find out who in the precinct knew Henry well and still works there. We’ll interview anyone who he might’ve talked to his son about, see if we can dig up any leads there.”

“Whoa, Shawn just said he didn’t want his dad finding out we’re asking about all this, and we just learned he’s way worse than we thought,” Gus says, standing up too. “We can’t start poking around the precinct, because in case you forgot Lassie, he works there!”

“Part-time.”

“He’ll know something is up.”

“Please. I think I know how to run a discreet investigation, Guster.”

“Could you hide something like that from Shawn?”

“... Of course.”

“No, you couldn’t, and if you can’t hide it from Shawn it’s a safe bet that you can’t hide it from his dad.”

Jules stands up. “No, Carlton is right. None of us realized how these pieces fit together until we all talked about it with each other, right? If Shawn won’t… can’t, open up to us about it, the next best thing is getting as many witness statements as possible.”

“Why? It just feels like digging things up to dig them up at this point.”

“Because Henry is currently in charge of Spencer’s livelihood, Guster.”

“I know! He’s in charge of part of mine too!”

“Right.” Jules looks up at Lassiter. “And if we can prove to The Chief that Henry has a negative, unreliable bias against Shawn, we can lessen some of that control!”

“As much as I’d hate to see Spencer off the leash again, I’d hate to be helping enable an abuser even more,” Lassiter agrees.

“Abuser is a strong word.” Gus doesn’t look like he feels that sentence is 100% true. “He wasn’t all bad a lot of the time. I mean, he loosened up on the comic thing when we were older.”

“We know he cares, Gus,” Jules assures. “But, caring doesn’t mean he didn’t do something wrong. Really, really wrong.”

Gus swallows, and then nods. “I know.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They collect a good few statements over the next week.

One statement claims that Shawn would play poker with some of the officers when Henry brought him to the station- why Henry was bringing a seven year old to an active police station and then not keeping an eye on him was something that went unanswered- and that Henry was obviously upset when he discovered this. Another statement corroborated the story, and added that he caught sight of Henry taking all the money Shawn made from the games and shoving it into the police donation box.

One statement was from an elderly file sorter, who claimed that Shawn was sometimes sent down to grab files for his dad and used to complain to her that henry would only buy Shawn cop car toys, and no others. When she’d asked Shawn if he wanted to be a cop when he grew up, Shawn had reportedly said quote, “Something about not getting a choice.” Other statements claimed, when this was brought up, that Shawn seemed very excited by the idea of being a cop when he grew up- until his arrest.

One statement, given by someone Lassiter vaguely remembers being rookies with back in the day, lends more credibility to the recollections of the elderly woman. The statement claimed that when the rookie would go on ride-alongs with Henry or work under him, Henry would almost always complain about Shawn. Everything from Shawn having an interest that didn’t relate to being a cop, to Shawn ‘acting like a child’ when he would have been under twelve according to the timeline, to Shawn ‘not even trying’ during a specific incident where Henry claimed Shawn forged his signature to go on a field trip and quote “hesitated for a second with his pen or something- I remember it was something really minor, and Henry couldn’t stand it. I thought it was weird that he was teaching his son how to forge signatures and then expecting the kid to never use the skill, but it wasn’t really my place to say.”

By the end of the week, Jules is steaming and Shawn hasn’t come around the precinct at all. Gus keeps dropping by, digging up old journals of his own to use as cross-references when possible. Shawn is quiet with Jules at home, like he’s waiting for something big to happen and he’s worried he could trigger it early.

It makes Jules more upset at Henry, because now her boyfriend’s emotional immaturity seems a lot less like a natural childish nature and a lot more like having genuinely never been taught how to handle anything.

No, according to the information she and Lassiter have gathered, it looks like all Henry taught Shawn was that winning is everything, being the best is non-negotiable, and Shawn was born to be a cop and anything that didn’t align with that idea just… shouldn’t be there.

“Wow.” Lassiter tosses the latest statement onto his desk. “And I thought Henry didn’t discipline Spencer enough as a kid. Some of this stuff makes it sound like Spencer grew up in a boot camp.”

“He basically did,” Jules says bitterly, reading over one of Gus’s old notebooks. “Gus wasn’t even looking for evidence of it, and these journals are full of casual, offhand observations that look worse and worse the more we know. Listen to this one. ‘Today Shawn was in a bad mood, and when I asked him why he said his dad stole his mood ring after showing him to turn the box upside-down. I said that’s cheating, and Shawn said it can’t be if his dad said to do it.’ Who the hell steals a mood ring from a kid?”

“You’re getting caught on the small stuff again, O’Hara.”

“I know, I know. I just- now that we know some of the major things, even the small stuff is making me just unbelievably angry.”

“Yeah, it’s rough to read. At least you and I wanted to be cops.”

“Right? No wonder Shawn ended up a psychic detective, how do you just do something else after being raised so specifically like that? And no wonder he-he buys EasyBake Ovens and goofs off all the time, he had it so strict as a kid…”

“Mmmmm… let’s not excuse every antic, O’Hara. A lot fo it is still just him being a jackass.”

“I won’t get into this with you again, Carlton.”

“Good, I don’t want to get into it again either. … Heads up.”

Jules closes the notebook and tucks it into a desk drawer as swiftly and inconspicuously as possible, Lassie doing the same for his file. Henry walks past them, barley sparing a glance as he makes his way somewhere else.

Jules stares daggers at him so intensely that if dropped to the ground covered with enough puncture wounds to imitate Julias Caesar, Lassiter would think it was a mild scene all things considered.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s three weeks since Jules found the notebook when Shawn rolls over in bed, puts his arm around, and mumbles “I have an eidetic memory.”

Jules puts her book down and looks at Shawn with furrowed brows. “What?”

Shawn sighs and sits up properly. “I have an eidetic memory,” he says again, “And… I don’t like looking back, because I remember everything perfectly. Which means I usually remember what I felt perfectly too, and it usually wasn’t great feelings.” He can’t look her in the eyes this time, either, but instead of the tense, protective body language of before, he’s holding a pillow close to his chest and slightly burying his face into it, almost sagging around it.

Jules starts to rub his back. She knows how hard this kind of… difficult emotional discussion, is for him. Now she even knows why- suspects why, really, because not all of it is proven in full, but still she thinks she can cout is as knowing. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“About the memory?”

“Yeah. That sounds… really difficult to deal with, Shawn. Does Gus know?”

“Yeah, he knows. I think other than my dad, and… and you, he’s the only person who knows.”

“Shawn…”

“I just, I just want you to know… that I’m not asking you to drop it for no reason,” Shawn says, “Or-or because I don’t feel like it’s important. I know it is, I do. I just…”

“Don’t want to relive a lot of it,” Jules says softly. “... Shawn, does this mean you remember everything perfectly? All the time?”

“Eh… fifty-fifty. The ADHD gets in the way sometimes.”

“... But when it doesn’t?”

“I just try not to think about a lot of it.” Shawn moves again, to look her in the eyes, He takes a deep breath, and he looks a little pained. This kind of thing is painful for him, he’s so unsure how to navigate it. “I have to keep moving forward, Jules. It’d be so… so easy to just get stuck, forever, in all the stuff stored in my head. And I’m really, really trying to, I mean that. It’s difficult, and I’m not… always great at it, but I’m trying.”

“And you’re worried we’ll set you back?”

“No! No, I… I don’t know.” Shawn lets Jules pull him close to her chest and begin running her hand through his hair. “My dad and I don’t solve stuff, Jules. We just… argue over it. I’m getting tired of it.”

“... I understand.” She kisses the top of his head. “But I don’t like him being in charge of you when you’re a grown man anymore.”

“You think I do? … But it’s making him a lot happier than he’s been in a long time.”

“You should be happy too, Shawn.”

“Hey. Hey, I am happy.” He looks up into her eyes. “Look at me right now. I’m being cradled like a sweet little baby seal by the most beautiful, badass woman in the entire world. Of course I’m happy.”

Jules laughs a little and contorts a bit to kiss him on the mouth. “I’m glad you told me that, Shawn. And I promise, I won’t ask you to relive anything else for me.”

“... But you’re not going to stop investigating my dad, are you?”

“Did you stop with mine?”

“... Fair enough.” Shawn lays his head back down, and soon enough Jules hears soft snoring from him and mumbled phrases in his sleep.

…

An eidetic memory. Perfect recall.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Jules goes over everything they have so far knowing Shawn has a perfect memory, it makes her angry to such a degree that she thinks it might kill her. Not literally, but it feels strong enough.

She has some of Shawn’s old report cards, some statements she got from former teachers via social media contact, and some copies of pages of one of Gus’s old journals laid out in front of her, and she sees a pattern.

Shawn didn’t do good in school. His report cards are less than average, and are packed with notes about how he doesn’t pay attention, doesn’t seem to absorb any information, and doesn’t remember anything he’s taught. The statements from the teachers describe Shawn as hyperactive, passionate about everything but his schoolwork, and having difficulty with staying observant in class.

Gus’s old journals are full of the same, but also the opposite. Shawn didn’t pay attention in school, but sometimes he could pull something the teacher said from his memory word for word without even trying, and then a few entries later Gus would mention Shawn failed a test on that exact subject. Shawn got beat up because he told a bully he memorized the pattern of answers used in the math tests, but his dad told the teacher and let Shawn know he was doing it. And most of all, Gus writes about how freaky his friend’s ability to look at people and figure them out is. How Shawn notices almost everything almost all the time, and usually makes some dramatic conclusion that isn’t right, but he still notices things and Gus can’t figure out how Shawn fingers things out.

Detective training, and an eidetic memory, and psychic visions. Jules is now pretty sure that Shawn covers up some of his deductions using his visions- he’s known enough impossible information that they can’t possibly all be deductions in disguise, but when she thinks back there’s a few times where it’s obvious in hindsight he used his abilities to cover up the fact that he’s an incredible, highly-trained detective.

Maybe she’s jumping to a conclusion, but she finds herself thinking ‘Because Henry made him hate that he can do it so well,’ as she pieces it all together.

Gus’s journals lend a lot of credit to that theory. Shawn is smart, and Gus knows it, but Shawn acts dumb sometimes and Gus doesn’t understand why, and then Gus mentions that it’s weird that Henry kept Shawn up all night before to stakeout their porch and now Shawn is tired during Little League and Henry tells him to get his head in the game because Henry is the coach.

Henry is the coach, Henry is the chaperone on the field trip, Henry is their Scout Master- he’s in charge of every part of Shawn’s life except for school. And Maddie is rarely brought up, even when Gus writes about spending all day or night or even weekend at the Spencer house. Jules hasn’t seen Shawn’s Mom since Yang almost blew her up, and she just figured that Maddie wanted to stay out of Santa Barbara after that, understandably. She’s getting a different feeling about Maddie staying away now. It seems a lack of presence was her main impression in Shawn’s life, or at least, Shawn’s life through the lens of Child Gus.

So it was basically just Henry. And her heart aches for the thought of someone being stuck in a bad marriage, basically raising a kid alone, and that kid being as hyper and curious and chaotic as Shawn. But the ache is smothered in the sense of righteous rage when she reads other entries about things like a girl throwing a ball at Shawn and missing, and an ostrich choking on the ball, and Henry dragging Shawn away. The entry goes on to say that Shawn told Gus that Henry didn’t believe him when he said he didn’t do it, even after then-superior officer Captain Connors came in and tried to vouch for Shawn.

Henry always assumed the worst. Assumes, the worst, still.

Shawn tries so hard, sometimes, with his dad, and Jules is starting to realize that Henry doesn’t put the same effort in. He tries some, she knows it, she’s seen it, but she also sees him constantly berate, put down, and insult Shawn, publicly and privately.

Suddenly she remembers something from when Shawn went undercover on the dating show, something she’d been too upset over about Shawn being there at all to really take in in the moment.

“I’m sorry, this woman is way too good for my son. If it was me, I’d vote no.”

She doesn’t have Shawn’s memory, so without rewatching the clip she can’t be totally sure those are Henry’s exact words, but she’s certain that it’s the exact sentiment.

First of all, she takes a little offense to that for herself. But secondly and more strongly, she takes offense for Shawn. As she thinks about it she can remember the way Shawn tried to cover up the awkwardness in the clip, the way the girl on the show whispered “Is this a joke?” and the way it absolutely was not. The way Henry said that on TV, to Shawn’s face, with no hint of shame.

“O’Hara.” She looks up to see Lassiter holding a cup of coffee and a bagel for her. She takes them and Lassiter says, “There’s more steam coming out of your ears than there is that cup.”

“Sorry,” she sighs. “I just… I don’t know if I can control myself tomorrow when Henry comes back in. The more I dig into this, the more I want to just- go back in time and pick little Shawn up and take him somewhere better.”

“Well as much as we don’t like it, O’Hara, Spencer is who he is because he was raised the way he was raised.”

“I know. And I like, who Shawn is!”

“Inexplicably.”

“Carlton.”

“Mmm.”

“Anyway… I love Shawn, and who he is, all of him, but I still wish he could��ve been who he is without going through all of this. It’s not okay.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Lassiter sighs. “Look, O’Hara, put the case down for a while. At this point we’ve got enough to at least make The Chief doubt some of Henry’s intentions and judgements when it comes to Spencer and, well, that was the goal.”

“... Yeah. Yes, okay, I will… I will put this down for a few days.” Jules closes up the file and puts it back into her drawer. “Shawn is still less than happy I’m working on this, anyway. He understands why, but I know he wishes he didn’t.” He probably understands a lot of things he wishes he didn’t. Jules has had to grapple with the realization that she actually doesn’t know as much about how Shawn’s mind works as she thought she knew, and that it’s possible she’ll never know a lot of it. There’s more than just psychic visions to the mystery of his mind, and some of those mysteries are locked up with a key cast out of self-resentments and resentments of his dad.

God, she hopes she can keep up a poker face when Henry comes in.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her file is missing from her desk the next day, and so is Lassiter’s. They both know why.

They march over to Henry’s desk just as Gus comes in to collect a check, and all three end up standing over Henry as he openly and unashamedly reads through the Spencer Upbringing Case File. Gus takes a step back when he realizes that’s what’s happening, as does Lassiter.

But not because of Henry.

Jules looks murderous.

Henry purses his mouth in a frown and nods, raising up the file and then closing it and tossing it onto his desk in one smooth movement. “It’s comprehensive,” he says, like he’s grading a paper. “But it’s a bunch of biased bull.”

“Give them back.” Jule’s voice is ice-cold.

Henry shrugs, moving his head side to side for a second, still frowning, and then says, “Nah.” He takes the files, and drops them in the trash. “I think you owe me an explanation for why the head detective and his partner are investigating the way I raised my son. Why’d Shawn put you up to this?”

“He didn’t.”

Henry scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

Jules slams one hand onto Henry’s desk. The whole bullpen goes quiet.

“I was helping Shawn get something from your house, and I found a notebook,” she says.

“Oh, so, you found one of Shawn’s little projects where he exaggerated things to make himself look like a victim of the world?”

“I found the writings of a little kid who didn’t seem to realize at the time of writing that being locked in a hot car trunk and digging through broken glass for Easter Eggs wasn’t normal.”

Henry laughs, crossing his arms. “That’s what you have a problem with? It’s called training, detective. You went through it yourself.”

“When I was an adult, by my choice, and I sure as hell never had to dig through glass.”

“You’re really hung up on that.”

“Because it’s genuinely evil!”

Henry’s smug look melts into a scowl. “How dare you.”

“How dare I?! Do you understand how much all of this is still affecting Shawn, even right now?! He can barely talk about all of this!” “Oh, well, he sure seem capable of reminding me of it.”

“Because you did it! You’re the only other person in the entire world who understood what was done to him in the name of training because you did it!”

“Done to h- you’re overreacting, detective!”

“I, agree, what is going on out here?” Chief Vick hurries over to Henry’s desk from her own. “Detectives, there had better be a damn good reason-”

“There is, Chief.” Lassiter reaches into the trashcan and pulls out the files.

“Karen, Detective O’Hara has allowed her romantic entanglement with my son to-”

“Henry was borderline abusive during Shawn’s childhood,” Jules interrupts, facing her Chief. Chief Vick’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open, a disbelieving laugh escaping her even as she accepts the files and flips them open. “You understand what it is you’re alleging, O’Hara, and against who?”

“I do, Chief, and I think our case file speaks for itself.” All eyes are on them now. Jules doesn’t back down. “I’m well aware of my emotional ties to this case, but I assure you I’m not allowing it to cloud my judgment. If I was, I wouldn’t have used the word borderline to describe the conclusions I’ve come to.”

“Karen, this is ridiculous.”

But Chief Vick is focused on the files in her hands. Her eyes flick up to Henry. “Is it?” She looks over to Gus, who’s been watching with the quiet tension of a prey animal waiting to make a run for it. “Mister Guster, can you genuinely testify to the validity and accuracy of the claims in these files?”

“Oh, um, well, most of those are from my own journals.” Gus’s eyes flick between Henry and Jules. “I’d say that’s even more reliable than just plain memory.”

“It certainly is.” Chief Vick turns her eyes back to the file. “Henry, I think after I’m done going through these we’re going to have a chat about some of your current responsibilities and extent of authority over consultants.”

“Oh, come on, Karen!” Henry looks around at the entire precinct staring, and judging. “This is completely unfounded, and-and blown way out of propor-!”

Henry doesn’t finish the sentence because Juliet O’Hara punches him in the nose.

There’s gasps from everyone in the room. Jules’s fist is bloodied. Henry’s nose went CRUNCH! when her fist made contact.For a long moment it’s like the whole room has collectively stopped breathing.

“I don’t make unfounded accusations, Henry,” Jules breathes. “Especially not when I have been building a case for over a month, and have watched Shawn completely close off whenever I asked him about this.”

Henry holds his nose, looking at Jules with fear that Lassiter and Gus don’t think is nearly intense enough. “Juliet,” Henry pants, blood streaming out from between his fingers. “This is insane.”

“Quiet, Spencer.” Lassiter moves Jules a little farther away. Her fist is still raised. “I won’t tolerate you disrespecting my partner, especially not in the same way you do your son.”

“What?! You can’t believe all this too, Lassiter.”

“You know I’m not Shawn’s biggest fan, but if you think what O’Hara has done over the last month is anything less than the best damn investigation possible then I have to seriously reconsider some of our shared opinions of your son’s work.”

Gus glances at a box of tissues on Henry’s desk- and then subtly moves to knock them on the floor and kicks them away.

“Herny, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the precinct for a few days while this gets handled. O’Hara, I’m going to need to speak with you in my office.”

Jules lowers her fist, and nods. She knows she can’t just punch Henry and get away with it scot-free, and she accepts that.

No-one moves to help Henry. Not a single soul. He grumbles as he makes his way past Gus to grab a different box of tissues.

“It’s like he just sucks the respect out of people,” Henry grumbles.

CRACK!

No-one is more surprised than Gus when his fist slams into Henry’s jaw. Gus reels away immediately, shrinking and cradling his hand, as Henry goes down.

“Mister Guster!” Chief Vick moves forward to try and catch Henry.

“Uuuuh!” Guss whines, shaking his hand. “I-I mean, you don’t get to say that about Shawn! He asked us not to keep doing this! You gotta stop assuming the worst of him all the time!”

“When he earns it!” Henry barks out, then groans and spits. It’s mostly blood.

“You won’t let him earn it!” Jules is furious again. “How many killers does he have to catch for you to see that your son is an amazing man?!”

“It’s not about catching killers,” Henry says, spitting again. “It’s about growing up.”

“Says the grown man who can’t even tell his son ‘I love you’.”

“He doesn’t say it either.”

“That’s not helping your case, Spencer.” Lassiter has his eyes on Jules and Gus. “And considering I’m the only one on said case who hasn’t taken a shot at you yet, I’d say keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh, what do you know.” Henry spits a third time. The Chief looks about ready to punch him herself. “Father-son relationships are complicated, especially when the father wants what’s best for the son and the son just wants to throw everything away and get himself killed!”

“You wanted him to be a cop, Spencer, you didn’t exactly put him on a path to a peaceful and easy life.”

“I put him on the right path, and he never appreciated it, and that is what your case file should say!”

“You know what, Spencer?” Lassiter takes a step closer to the bleeding man. “I’ve put up with a lot of crap from both you and your son over the years, and you two are a lot more similar than you think. But one thing I can say that Shawn has over you is that he doesn’t mean it when he says stupid crap like that.”

“He looks up to you, you ass,” Jules adds. “And he is willing to put aside all of the things you say and do to him to have a good relationship with you. Do you understand how incredible that is? That you don’t even have to work to have him in your life? That he comes to you no matter how many times you tear into him for it?”

“He comes to me because he never listens when he needs to.” Henry’s face is starting to become very purple as the bruises set in. “I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but he needs, my help.”

“Exactly! And he feels like you’re reliable enough to give it to him, and you do! So why do you treat that as though it’s a fault? Do you have any idea what I would have given as a kid, and even now, to be able to just-just go up to my dad and say ‘I need help,’ and have him be there to help me? That means the world!”

“Not to Shawn.” Henry looks pained beyond just the broken nose and possible broken jaw. “The kid is too focused on himself.”

“You don’t know your son at all, then.” Jules turns and walks with The Chief to her office.

Gus shakes his head, grabs the check out of Henry’s paperwork pile, checks that it’s signed, and leaves.

“Oh, really? It’s up to me to take him to the hospital?” Lassiter looks around and then huffs. “Alright, Spencer. Don’t bleed on my seats, or my dashboard, or anything but yourself.”

“I’m not a bad father,” Henry says, still holding his nose. “I care about my son.”

“Yeah, and somehow Shawn knows that even though you act the way you do.” Lassie buckles Henry in for him so that the nose remains pinched. “But here’s the thing, Spencer. Your son is an arrogant, attention-hogging, impulsive, completely absurd person, and he didn’t just become like that out of a vacuum.”

“Yes he did. I did everything I could. I did everything right as much as possible.”

Lassiter sighs as he gets into the driver’s seat. “You seriously think that? You’d be okay with your grandkid being raised that way?”

“If they had Shawn’s potential, yes.”

“... Dammit.” Lassiter turns to Henry, and punches him in the gut. Henry coughs, and then chokes on his own blood, and then coughs again.

“What the hell?!” Henry gets out between hacks.

“O’Hara would’ve done it. I feel like I owed it to her. … And honestly, Spencer, after compiling that damn case, I’ve been wanting to do it for myself anyway. I already knew you were an overbearing perfectionist with a control issue, but you wishing your son was more like that than he is is even worse.”

“Shawn’s no perfectionist,” Henry wheezes.

“But he is overbearing with a control issue more often than not. Like I said inside, you two are a lot more similar than you think, and frankly I blame you for the parts of Shawn that go past mild annoyance and into infuriating obstacle.”

“I’d never just hand a collar over to save someone’s ego,” Henry coughs out.

“See, that’s where I wish Shawn wasn’t like you.”

“He’s handed you a collar twice.”

“What? He has not.”

And Henry must be a little delirious from the repeated blows, because Lassiter is pretty sure his next words of “See, this is why Shawn should’ve been head detective,” wouldn’t come out of him otherwise.

Lassiter grips the steering wheel tighter and makes a sharp turn into the hospital parking lot. “Well he’s not, and from the sound of things he never would’ve been anyway.”

“He could’ve been a perfect cop.”

“He’d have been miserable and you know it.”

“He’d be doing things right.”

“You’re hopeless.” Lassiter isn’t any gentler helping Henry out of the car than he was helping him in. “I’m not picking you back up when they’re done with you.”

“I’ll call Shawn.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.” And Shawn will come, and probably be mad on his dad’s behalf, and will definitely be mad at all three of the punchers, because he loves his dad enough to overlook years and years of mistreatment that most people would probably consider ground for cutting contact. “And Spencer? If you ever insult O’Hara’s work again, or say anything that gets her that angry, I will help her cover up your disappearance.”

“You don’t mean that,” Henry scoffs.

“Try me.” Lassiter gets back in his car. “And if I hear from her that you’re still badmouthing your son to his face, I’ll make you disappear myself.”

And then he drives away.

And Henry walks into the hospital alone.

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thespiritssaidso · 3 months

Text

Him? Really?

Juliet was filling out paperwork from their last case when Shawn had grabbed her and lead her to the conference room, which was conveniently empty. Before she could get a word in, Shawn blurted out “I need to confess something.”

Still a little perturbed, but also curious, she asked “Okay? What is it?”

“Well. I’m kind of, for lack of a better word, crushing on someone here-”

Any anger she might have had leftover immediately melted away. “Oh my gosh, Shawn that’s great! Who is it?”

He winces a little and says “-You’re really not gonna like who I say.”

“Oh, I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

“I don’t know Jules…”

“It’s okay. Just- just rip it off. Like a bandaid.”

“Alright then.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s Lassie.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then-

“Put the bandaid back on.”

“Jules, what the heck?!”

“I’m sorry, that was completely uncalled for-”

“Yeah! It kind of was!”

“But… Carlton?”

“Yes, ‘Carlton’. Who else?”

“I don’t know. Literally anyone?”

“Oh my god.” He collapsed into one of the chairs, letting his head fall into his hands.

“What’s going on?”

They both startle, looking at the door of the conference room, which was now blocked by the head detective himself.

Juliet stumbled for an excuse. “Carlton! We were- Uhhmm- well- we were just- just talking aboutttt-”

“About…?”

“-abouttt that new taco place that just opened up!” Shawn helped.

She nodded a little too enthusiastically. “Yeah! Yes! We were planning on going there later.”

Lassiter raised an eyebrow, not looking thoroughly convinced.

“Well, I gotta, uhh, head out, Gus just called and there’s a client that needs… spiritual… help… Bye.” Shawn lightly pushed past Lassiter and quickly headed out.

He looked at Juliet, still confused, and asked “What was that all about?”

She tried — and only moderately failed — to act casual. “Oh, just Shawn being Shawn, I guess.”

—————————

Based on this prompt from @aut189

#I haven’t written anything in a while #but this was fun #I actually feel proud of myself for this one #shawn spencer #carlton lassiter #juliet o'hara #shassie #🔮🔫#psych #psych 2006 #psych usa #psych tv #psych tv show #psych show #psych fanfic #psych fanfiction #psych fic #toast tries to write #I wrote this with ‘More Than a Feeling’ by Boston stuck in my head

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imposterzoe · 2 months

Text

Thinking about Shawn Spencer with a gun.

Remember that one episode where he's in the backseat and shouts "Somebody give me a gun!" and Lassie and Jules both shout "No!"

....why?

This is Henry Spencer's son. The man who, at that point, has shown he can:

Analyze a room from a glance and find a criminal

Recreate entire crime scenes and scale models from memory off seeing them for less than two minutes

Save himself from someone dead set on killing him

They spend a whole episode (maybe the same episode from before idk) talking about the detective exam which he aced when he was 15

It's a known fact that the only reason he isn't a cop is mix of leftover teen angst, a hatred for order, and a flair for the dramatic

In the first fucking episode, we see him in a shooting range with Lassie's old partner (Doctor Amber Volakis who is fucking everywhere in the early 2000s' once you know her face). In that scene he looks at the target for all of 10 seconds.

He doesn't watch her shoot. He doesn't study the target. And in one tenth of the time it took her to make the shots, matches every one.

And because it's Shawn this is all after acting like he'd never held a gun before.

Obviously no one else is in this scene to see this but still. Shawn shoots a gun maybe twice more in the series but dude is skilled marksman.

Dude also only gets angry when innocent people and people he care about are in imminent danger.

My point is there should've been a scene where Henry Spencer, the person whose main interaction with his son was during survival and skills training, was held at gunpoint and utterly helpless.

Carlton Lassiter, the person with 10 guns hidden throughout his apartment, should hand his personal weapon to Shawn who at that moment has no visible emotion.

Shawn Spencer should walk into the building with no body armor, no plan, and no emotion.

And immediately get a head shot.

No conversation. No bargaining. Nothing.

He should then turn on his heel without even talking to his now blood-speckled father and walk back outside. Return Lassiter's gun. And deposit himself in the back of a squad car.

Or he should set up an NES in the precinct and fucking demolish everyone at Duck Hunt

Either one.

#psych #shawn spencer #henry spencer #carlton lassiter #tw death mention #dark shawn spencer #might turn that first scene into a fic idk #long post #angst #I'm just saying we should've gotten more Shawn shooting scenes #that's all

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autism-criminal · 8 months

Text

i never made an intro post 😨

so uh yeah here we go wheeeeeee

my name is deary and maybe x , I am very cool . My pronouns are it/he and sometimes it/they .3 I’m aroace , and I think I’m biromantic or just gay !

I am professionally diagnosed with AuADHD , anxiety , and depression . I’m also robotkin !

If you’d like me to tag or tw something , please tell me , whether that be through dms or an ask ! I value your safety and comfort !

I like drawing ! ask me to draw your OC and I will do so in the span of 2 hours-2 days .

Seven means a lot . Idk how much , but imagine seven is the biggest number in the world ! I call characters dilfs and like terms as a joke ( refer to paragraph #1 )

I am like . fuckinf obsessed with FNaF, but I do not support Scott Cawthon’s anti-LGBTQ2IA+ views .

my top five interests in no particular order

FNaF

Jurassic Park

Psych

The Hunger Games

The Gray Man

honorary mention: Curtains the musical but only the version I saw at my high school

I love being tagged in things . Pls don’t hesitate to tag me in things

I LOVE NICKNAMES AIODCUOAKDOX

oc lore so far

Silva, Shroom Guy, Notata and Apparatus Phobos 2 ( I probably have more lore for him but I can’t find it )

Im cool, but you know who’s even cooler ?

@jadegrimm @songboylyric @whymustibefunny @fagtron2000 @finleyforevermore @treasure-goblin @noodleedoodleeoodle @ccritterbugg @bloodcoveredbutch @robotwithanr @therealjackdsaf @t0esniffer69 @mochablogger @mewo-cressei @kirvee @inkythew0lf @f1nch3z @just-hyper-active @11somecat11 @j-snapdragon @julietheidiot @cultedpersonality @starfish-spencer @clawdiia @starrystims @shawnaise @iceeericeee @beepboopchibbo @angel-devil-star @idonoiyo @thathingwiththepotatoes @tipsylemonwater @enchanting-grom-fright @breadonthestreet @living-my-ghibli-dream @beewasdeleted @bossbabyfan2

my platonic valentine !! even in march @idonoiyo <3333333

also, MY DADS !!! @wheredidmybooksgo @the-grave-doctor !!!!! The best dads ever !!!!

and my grandmama !! @the-squishy-scrimblo !!!

check them out .D

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

The Join Us For A Bite project :

Intro/Intrumental

my tags are as follows :

#rewatching garbity farls - when i rewatch gravity falls

#PHOBOS LORE - lore or just art for the siller

#best dad ever - for when I’m talking with the best dad ever

#best grandmama ever - for when I’m talking with the best grandmama ever

#lassieposting - for when I post about Carlton Lassiter or find a post that I think is related to Carlton Lassiter

#words ain’t wordin - a tag I pre-made for when I go semi- or non-verbal

#avatarposting - posts about atla ( the new show or the animated one )

DNI :

racists / homophobes / transphobes etc

pedos

nsfw blogs

Please don’t send donation asks , I’ll just assume it’s a scam

that’s it B]

#tw swearing #tw caps #intro post wow

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crazyk-imagine · 1 year

Text

The Coffee is Not the Murder Weapon

Pairing: Shawn Spencer x Plus!size!reader Characters: Plus!size!reader (aka Beans), Shawn Spencer, Burton “Gus” Guster, Carlton Lassiter, Juliet “Jules” O’Hara, Woody, Greg (the murderer), Buzz McNab (briefly mentioned) Warnings: Mentions of guns and bullets, violence, this man Greg is crazy, coffee shops should not be a place for murder plots, Woody being “prepared”, okay plot but stay for the fluff, friends to lovers, my love for writing for these peps returns Word Count: 2,466

A/N: Bad plot but I tried, and it didn’t turn out completely horrible so yay. Yes, I’m giving myself a pat on the back, don’t judge me :p

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“Push on the gas, Lassie or else someone is going to get hurt and it’s not gonna be me,” Shawn says, his voice elevated as he thinks about what could happen.

“What’re you talking about, Spencer?”

“Shawn, calm down and tell us what’s going on,” Juliet tried to reason with him.

“No! I can’t- I- you just gave to trust me on this.”

“If you want us to trust you, you have to explain what’s going on. Do you feel something?”

“Oh my god,” Gus says, after Shawn hands him the phone. “Floor it, Lassiter!”

“Why?!”

Shawn rubs his hands across his face. “The barista did it. We were wrong about the manager being poisoned.”

Juliet furrows her brows, trying to make sense of the words flying out of the psychic’s mouth. “But Woody said-”

“He-”

“He’s calling me,” Gus announces, showing his friend the phone.

Shawn quickly snatches it out of his buddy’s hand, answering it.

“Shawn, you’ll never believe the story I overheard last night when I was at the bar. So, this girl, who was close to turning thirty, although I think she was lying. Anyway, she was saying-”

“The barista did it with one of those skinny tongue depressors.”

“Yes! It never ceases to amaze me how well your skills are.”

The psychic tosses the phone up in the air for his friend to catch.

“Sounds like we have the right to arrest someone.” Carlton speeds up, maneuvering himself, safely, between cars. “Where am I going, Spencer?”

“Where do you think?”

“If I knew, do you think I’d be asking you?”

“The coffee shop. Beans told me she had a shift, and our killer does too. She put it together before my visions became clearer. If we don’t get there within the next five minutes, it’s going to be a manhunt and I’ll be the first in line.”

“We’re not going to let anything happen to her,” Juliet tells him.

“I’ll believe it when I can see that she’s safe.”

“Sha-”

“We’re here. Spencer, I’m only going to say this once and only once. Do not and I mean, do not go in there.”

“But, I can-”

“No,” Carlton tells him before he and Juliet rush out of the car, standing by the front door with their guns in front of them before they sneak into the building.

“I’m going in.”

“Oh, no you are not,” Gus slams his hand onto the door lock.

“Yes, I am.”

“Sha- Shawn.” Gus makes the noise people typically make when trying to call a cat over, “psst. Psst. Shawn, no.” He gets out of the car when he realizes his friend isn’t going to follow him back towards the safety.

The two make their way into the building, sneaking through the front door, only pausing when they hear a strange noise.

“Are we really going to go in there, Shawn? I mean, what if he has a gun or some other weapon?”

“That’s when you selflessly throw yourself in front of our bad guy while I, the hero, save the day.”

“I don’t like that plan.”

“Well, it’s the only one I have so far.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Fine, it’s not but this one makes us both look like heroes.”

“I understand why you’re making jokes, but we need a real plan if we want to make sure Beans doesn’t get hurt.”

The psychic sighs, “I know, Gus.” He leans off the wall, glancing back over his shoulder. “I have a plan.”

“What is it?”

“You stay here and I’m gonna make a distraction.”

“Okay- wait! What?” He turns around, finding his friend nowhere near him. “Dammit Shawn.”

Shawn walks around the corner, hearing clattering coming from the back and rushes forward only for you to duck behind the counter.

“Shawn?” You stare at him with furrowed brows. “Duck. Duck.”

“Duck?” He dives to the floor when bullets come flying through the door, breaking the glass window. He wraps his arms around you, covering your head as he pulls you closer, making sure nothing happens to you.

Once the firing stops, you lift your head off his shoulder.

“Do you know the way out of here?” He whispers.

“We won’t make it without being seen. Why are you here alone?”

“I remembered you told me this place has a really weird back entrance, so it takes a few minutes to get in here. If we stall him long enough, then maybe we can make it out of this alive while Lassie and Jules do their thing.” He stops talking and becomes quiet. “I have an idea.”

“You are not going to try and make a conversation with him. Are you?”

“It’s called a distraction.”

“A terrible one, at that.”

“I could do it.”

You glance over his shoulder.

“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”

You gulp, nodding. Your former coworker, Greg, grabs your arm, yanking you away from your friend.

“Hey. Hey! Let her go.”

Greg shakes his head, “no, I don’t think I will.” He forces you into the nearest chair.

“You don’t need to need to manhandle Beans like that.”

“It’s her fault.”

“What’s her fault?”

“Ruining my plan and you, the psychic coming around wasn’t any help either.”

“It sounds like you have a problem with me and not-”

He waves the gun around in Shawn’s face. “You stay over there. She stays here.”

You tense up at the feeling of the metal on the back of your head.

He nods. “I’m staying over here. You don’t need to keep waving the gun around.”

“Santa Barbara PD, drop your weapon,” Carlton says, keeping his attention on Greg.

“I don’t think I will.”

“You sure you want to do that?”

“Why not? I’ve got a hostage right here,” he steps to the side, letting the officer get a view of your back.

“Let the civilians go so we can talk.”

“No,” he clicks the trigger of the gun.

You close your eyes, trying not to shake as you hear everything going on behind you.

“No,” Shawn takes a step closer, and everyone’s focus turns onto him. “Remember it was me. I’m the psychic, I know why you did it. He wasn’t giving you the proper respect, right? And he should have, you’re the one who made sure everything ran smoothly around here especially when he would take his sporadic trips. You did everything he should have done and he- he-”

“He was gonna fire me and give my job to Janet, but she put it in her two weeks’ notice after that and then she,” he spits in your direction. “Was the next one.”

“And, you believe she would have taken your job without hesitation?”

Greg nods.

Shawn nods before he starts to chuckle. “And that’s when you need to listen or pay attention to all employees because she’s a very kind woman who would never do that and I’m lucky to know... that took a minor detour, I’ll admit but it just proves that she isn’t what you created in your mind.”

“Are you done?” Carlton asks.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.”

That’s all the detective needed to hear as he takes another step forward. “Let her go.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“Greg.”

“What are you doing?” Shawn whispers.

“Do you know why our boss would take sudden trips?”

“Yeah. He’s a greedy bastard who wants to blow away his money.”

“No, his wife is sick, and she’s been in a home that specializes with her condition. She has her good days and her bad days, so when it’s not looking good, he rushes over there in case it’s going to be his last time with her.”

“Really?” He jerks your arm. “How do you know?”

“He told me because I found him crying in the storage closet when it was my turn to close the shop a few months ago. He trusted you, that’s why he was confident with you being in charge.”

He lowers his hand.

Shawn sees the way you’re eyeing your coworker and shakes his head.

Greg drops his gun.

You take this as your opportunity to run away from him before anything else could happen.

Shawn pushes you behind him.

Juliet and Lassiter do their thing, arresting him just as Gus rushes in, holding a broom as his weapon of choice.

“Nice timing, Guster,” Carlton tells him as he passes by to put the, now, arrested man in the nearest squad car, which of course happens to be Buzz’s.

“Is he gone?”

“Yes, Gus. He’s gone, you can stop now.”

The frightened man takes notice of the scene and slowly sets the broom down before sniffing as he wipes his nose. “I knew that; I was just testing you.”

“No, you weren’t,” you chime in.

“I’m gonna let that slide for right now.”

“You’re so nice, Gus.” You groan, holding your side. “I think it’s time for me to get checked out.”

Two paramedics run in, asking which of three needs to be checked out.

All three of you answer, informing the gentleman that it’s you. Once they make sure you’re all good, they give you one last recommendation to get a full check up at the hospital to make sure you’re all good and don’t have any underlying injuries they may not have caught.

You wave them off, “yeah, yeah,” your words fine out slurred before you pass out.

The whole way there, everyone was worried about you, Shawn more than the others.

Henry walks into the room, placing a hand on his boy’s shoulder. “When was the last time you left the room?”

“Not once.”

“You need to eat something, Shawn.”

The psychic doesn’t say anything else.

“You know, you need to eat something if you want to confess to her.”

“Confess what?”

“I raised you better than to play dumb, Shawn.”

The younger man gets up out of his seat. “Fine, so maybe I do know what you’re talking about but why would I-”

“Shawn.”

“No, no. Don’t distract me.”

“Shawn.”

“Why are you-”

“Shawn.”

“What?”

Henry sighs and spins his son around, leaving his boy to get the girl.

“Oh, you’re up.”

“I am.”

He grabs the water by your bed and holds for you.

“I can drink water on my own.”

He nods, slowly placing the cup in your hands.

“How are you?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

You set the cup down onto the table. “You could but, you’re antsy and an antsy Shawn isn’t a good Shawn.”

“Funny.”

“Usually, you’d have some witty comeback when I say things like that, what’s going on in your head?”

“You could have died.”

“But I didn’t.”

“But you could have.”

“I didn’t though.”

“But… you could have and- and-”

You slowly push yourself up, reaching out for his hand, bringing him closer.

He’s careful as he sits down beside you.

“What would have happened, if it did happen? Can you find it in you to explain that bit to me?”

“You mean, other than the fact that the woman I’ve been in love with since we were kids would be dead, not much.”

“Wha-” Your jaw drops.

“I wouldn’t have been able to come up with a clever plan and pretend like I didn’t know how it happened even though you know when I’m lying.”

“So, what you’re saying is you like me and you want to ask me out?” You ask, a sly smile dancing across your lips.

“Maybe.”

“Good.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“I feel like there’s something else you have planned.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna go find my doctor, ask when I can leave so then you can take me out on our date and fall asleep on my couch.”

This is the first time he’s smile since this morning, and it feels great. “Don’t move.”

“I won’t.”

Woody rushes in with a black bag.

You raise a brow. “Did you really think I was dead?”

“Wha- oh this,” he points to the bag. “No, no. I was just- I thought I needed to be prepared.”

“Get out.”

“I’m the one who brought the flowers.” He points with a weak smile.

“Thank you, they’re beautiful but get out.”

“Yep, got it.” Woody manages to move out of the way before he could bump into Shawn and your doctor and continues to run out of the building.

You and Shawn had a wonderful time getting dinner (with Gus driving so you could pick up the food) and dropping you guys off at your place (after being told he wasn’t invited).

“If I’m not a part of this date, why did I drive you two to go pick up jerk chicken?”

Shawn shrugs, “sorry, buddy.”

You jab your elbow into his side, “I don’t know. I’m sorry, he used you. How about tomorrow we all go out and get breakfast before we head over to the station?”

“Thank you, I think that would be a great idea.” Gus doesn’t move from his spot.

“Do you want to take some for the road?”

“This is why I like you.”

“You’ve liked me being around since we met, I used to pretend you weren’t involved in whatever it was he,” you point to Shawn. “Was doing so you wouldn’t get suspended.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m happy he’s partially your problem now.” He takes his napkin wrapped portions and waves you two off before he leaves.

“Can we go upstairs now? It’s getting cold.”

“Quite whining and maybe you’ll get a blanket.”

He leans against the doorway as he waits for you to pull out your keys. “Is there anyway, I could persuade you?”

The doorknob clicks, you open the door and smile at him. “No.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“Your psychic abilities tell you that?”

“Maybe.”

You roll your eyes and step inside. “Come on, I’m hungry and I’m not afraid to take the food from you.”

“But then you’d have a starving man in your home, rummaging through your fridge searching for a pineapple.”

“I’m not afraid to take that risk.”

“Rude.”

You chuckle, “hurry up and get over here. We can watch a movie.”

“I’m getting us some drinks. I can’t die of thirst after fulfilling my need of food.”

“Okay.”

“And here is your drink,” he sets them down on the coffee table. “And your food.”

You practically snatch the food from him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I mean… for everything that’s happened.”

He settles on the couch beside you, turning for you to see his soft smile. “I know.”

You shake your head. “You’re so cocky.”

“Only for you.”

“I feel like I should be ending things here.”

“But you’re not. You love me too much.”

“Shush and watch the movie.”

He smiles to himself, knowing he’s made you all flustered.

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somethings-coming-up · 6 months

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Psych Fanfic - Pukey!Lassie and Boyfriend Shawn

Note: I can't title for shit. Anyway idk if the Psych fandom is even still alive. Anyway, I posted this on AO3 a while ago, but thought this would be a good place for it too.

The warmth that enveloped Shawn every night slowly slipped away, leaving a chilly emptiness in its wake. Shawn groaned and opened his eyes, looking up just in time to see Carlton swing his legs over the side of the bed and stand. "Lassie," he whined dramatically, reaching for a blanket that he had discarded due to sleeping beside his own personal furnace of a boyfriend.

It was dark, but Shawn could mentally see the don't-be-dramatic look on Carlton's face. "I'll be right back."

"Where're you going?" Shawn mumbled into the pillow.

"The bathroom," Carlton answered. "You know, the one that is fifteen feet away. You'll live."

Shawn pouted. "This wouldn't happen if your old-man bladder could handle a little water before bed." Carlton didn't answer and left for the bathroom, leaving Shawn to wonder if the age jab had gone too far. Shawn loved Lassiter, but his jokes were always hit or miss depending on the detective's mood.

Shawn only knew he managed to drift off again when he felt his furnace return to the bed beside him. With his eyes still closed, he wrapped his arms around Carlton, humming in content. If the detective had been mad earlier, he gave no indication of it now as his hands made his way to Shawn's back where he began to rub gentle circles through his t-shirt. "Get some sleep, Shawn. If you want a ride to work, you have to wake up with me."

The statement made Shawn wrinkle his nose in disgust because early mornings weren't his cup of tea, but they were at least bearable when they showered together and Carlton made their coffee. "'Kay," he agreed finally. The familiar warmth eliciting from his boyfriend combined with the back rubs he received caused him to drift off relatively quickly. Carlton knew exactly how to get him to sleep, and as always, his plan had worked perfectly.

Until it happened again.

"Seriously, no more water before bed for you," Shawn groaned as Carlton rolled away from him and sat up for the second time. Shawn had no idea how much time had passed since his boyfriend's last trip to the bathroom, but he guessed it had only been a couple of hours.

"Sorry," was Carlton's response. His voice was tight, but the man was easy enough to wind up that Shawn was again confused as to whether or not his comments were unwanted, or if he was simply tired. The latter made sense, as Carlton had to be getting less sleep than him at this point. Plus, Shawn could always make the decision to sleep in and take his bike to work, whereas the head detective had a significantly less lenient work schedule.

Carlton headed to the bathroom again, and this time Shawn couldn't fall back asleep. He was kept awake by his usual running thoughts and a slight bit of paranoia that made him wonder if he was going to get a lecture in the morning. Then again, it was just as plausible that Carlton wasn't mad because he had never been the most talkative person Shawn has met. It was also possible that Lassiter--who oftentimes loved to watch Shawn squirm--was messing with him in return by being short with him.

Not for the first time, Shawn wondered why he chose to date the one person he could never quite read.

Carlton's return shook Shawn out of his thoughts. The man let out a tired sigh as he returned to bed, and though it could easily be due to exhaustion, Shawn found himself wondering if something was actually wrong. "Are you okay?" he murmured quietly into his boyfriend's shoulder.

"I'm fine."

Shawn lifted his head slightly off the warm surface. "Are we okay?"

At that, Lassiter looped an arm around him again and gave him a gentle, affectionate squeeze. "Everything's okay, Shawn. Try to go back to sleep."

"I've been trying," Shawn complained. "Did you finally get everything out of your system?"

There was a beat of silence. Carlton let out a puff of air, and Shawn felt it against the back of his neck, leaving him with pleasant goosebumps. "I hope so," he said finally.

Odd, Shawn thought, but he made the decision to let the comment slide. If something was wrong, they could talk about it in the morning when they were more coherent and rested. "Okay, g'night," he said behind a yawn. "Love you. Don't pee again."

Carlton chuckled. "Love you too."

The third time it happened, Shawn was actually annoyed. Carlton sat up in bed, leaving Shawn to glare at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 3:30 in the morning was far too late for either of them to be awake, and he knew that his boyfriend tended to be grumpier than usual (which was pretty grumpy, to say the least) when sleep-deprived. Shawn sat up this time too, glaring as Lassiter rose from the bed again. "Seriously, this time someone better be breaking in, or you better be passing a freaking kidney stone or something, otherwise I'm going to the couch where Mr. Pineapples," Shawn held up a pineapple-shaped plushie that Carlton got him after their third date, "can keep me warm."

Again, Carlton was silent as he walked in the direction of the bathroom. Shawn threw up his hands and scoffed, now feeling as though he was owed a serious explosion for the aloofness emitting from the detective. This time, Shawn followed him after a while, not wanting to let the behavior slide any longer. He walked to the bathroom door and knocked, leaning against it as he waited impatiently for a response. As far as he could tell, the sound of peeing was absent entirely, which only frustrated him more. "Are you seriously just going to ignore me? What the hell did I do? I didn't even slap your ass at work today. I've been on my best behavior." There was only silence yet again, and Shawn decided to take matters into his own hands. "Alright, this is getting a little ridiculous, even for me, and we both know…" Shawn opened the door and trailed off when he realized what had been happening all night. Carlton may not have been peeing, but the sight of him on his knees, hunched over the toilet was more than enough to wash away all traces of anger. "Oh."

Carlton didn't answer, but the muscles in his back did jump as a quiet retch brought up a mouthful of vomit into the toilet. Shawn approached the man slowly, similar to the way he'd approach a wild animal, only his trigger-happy boyfriend could prove to be far more dangerous if the mood was right. Or wrong. Either way, really. Eventually, he knelt down beside Carlton, and up-close he noticed the small tremors coursing through the older man's body. Shawn slowly put a hand on his back, surprised when the touch was brushed off. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't know you were sick."

"I'm not," Carlton said stubbornly. "Maybe it was something I ate. Or maybe I got a stomach virus. I don't know."

Shawn raised an eyebrow as he rubbed circles into the man's back, just as Carlton had done for him while they were in bed. "Yeah, I think both food poisoning and stomach bugs constitute as being sick. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I don't typically display weakness in front of others," Carlton answered simply.

Of course. Shawn should have guessed as much, as he has always known that if the two of them were to marry, he'd have to change his last name to Mr. I'd-rather-die-than-take-a-sick-day. It was then that it hit him how much their relationship must mean to Lassiter if he was willing to let Shawn keep him company while he emptied his stomach into the toilet. "Well, I for one don't think this is a display of weakness at all. I mean, here you are upchucking like a champ. You know, I asked for my mommy every time I threw up until I was 30."

Carlton chuckled, spitting into the toilet. "You still do, Shawn."

Shawn pat Carlton's back. "See? Case and point."

"It's case in point."

"I've heard it both ways."

Carlton belched softly, grimacing. "You should probably head back to bed. This is just disgusting."

Shawn tisked. "Lassie, Lassie, Lassie. Have you met Gus ever? My best friend throws up like three times a day. I can handle it."

Carlton grabbed a wad of toilet paper, using it to wipe his mouth and nose. "I'm done anyway. There's no chance in hell I've got anything left after three trips."

Shawn stood so Carlton could have room to pull himself together. The toilet flushed and the older man walked weakly over to the sink, bracing himself on either side of the counter after turning on the water. Shawn decided to step up and he grabbed a washcloth, running it under the cool water. Gently, he dabbed away beads of sweat that were collecting on Lassiter's face, surprised when he wasn't swatted away. If anything, the creases on his boyfriend's face disappearing indicated that the action was appreciated. When that was done, Shawn grabbed a small paper cup from the cupboard and filled it with water, handing it over. "Here. Take a few sips and rinse out your mouth. Maybe not in that order."

Carlton rinsed first and managed to drink a little without immediately spewing. That was a good sign, right? "I'm ready to go back to bed. With any luck, I'll feel better tomorrow morning."

Shawn took him by the arm and began to lead the two of them back to the bedroom. "Even if you do feel better tomorrow, should you still try to go to work? I mean, you should probably get as much rest as possible, and it doesn't seem like you've been getting much sleep tonight."

They made it back to the bed and Lassiter collapsed down onto it with an appreciative groan. "I have a perfect attendance record," he protested quietly.

Shawn scoffed. "What is this, fifth grade?" he slid into bed beside Carlton, this time keeping in mind the sensitive state of the man's stomach as he tangled the two of them together. "You know, if you weren't such a workaholic, maybe you wouldn't be doing impersonations of a wild goose mating call all night."

"I have an excellent immune system, Spencer. I'm not entirely sure that your choice in restaurants agrees with my stomach."

Shawn gasped mockingly. "Lassie, how dare you? Street gyros are an absolute gem. God forbid I make you eat something other than sunflower seeds for lunch."

Carlton's body began to relax against his, and Shawn knew it wouldn't be long before his boyfriend fell asleep. "Sunflower seeds don't take up any time," he murmured.

Shawn rolled his eyes at Lassiter's eating habits (or lack thereof) and listened peacefully as the older man's breathing evened out. With any luck at all, the detective would wake up feeling better and maybe even well-rested enough to make it into work. Shawn made the decision that if he even had the slightest suspicion something was off in the morning, he'd try to give Carlton his famous puppy eyes to make him stay home.

That, or he could threaten him with Chief Vick.

Shawn smirked as a soft snore escaped from the other's sleeping form. He treasured these moments that the two had together--the ones where they could both unapologetically be themselves and not worry about judgment from the other. Shawn kissed Carlton's temple, allowing himself to reflect on all of the right choices he made during his life that led to this very moment. With those pleasant thoughts in his mind, Shawn eventually joined Carlton in a peaceful slumber.

…………………………………………………

Luck may not have been on their side the following morning, but Shawn still took in this moment for everything it was worth.

Carlton, much to his dismay, woke up sore and nauseous, which Shawn knew had to be bad when it was the man himself who suggested that he stay home from work. Shawn, of course, agreed right away and told him to get more rest and hopefully sleep off the bug. That's how he wound up watching over his boyfriend while he slept, grinning unashamedly the entire time. Though they moved in together a month ago and had stayed over at each other's places several times before that, Shawn rarely got to watch Carlton sleep. Carlton was always the first one up, and oftentimes, the last one in bed. When Shawn did stay up or woke up in the middle of the night, the darkness of the bedroom made it impossible to make out any features. Sometimes when Carlton would agree to watch cartoons with him, he'd dose off quickly, but Shawn's head was usually too comfortable in the man’s lap for him to see his face. Now, sitting on the edge of the bed as his boyfriend slept, Shawn had a perfect view. It was refreshing to see his usually stoic and ornery look peaceful for once, and even though he was 99% sure his boyfriend was currently having a lovely dream about shooting someone, there was a hint of child-like innocence while he slept.

Shawn was snapped out of his musing when his phone dinged from the nightstand. He grabbed it quickly and turned the volume down, not wanting anything to disturb his sick partner. It was a text from Juliet, which he had been expecting. Carlton’s colleagues were bound to be a little worried since the man never volunteered to take a sick day.

Hey, Shawn. Chief Vick told me Carlton isn’t feeling well. Is he alright? Do you guys need anything? -J. O’H.

Shawn texted her back:

Lassie’s pukey :( -S.S

Yikes! Stomach viruses are the absolute worse. Do you need me to swing by with anything on my lunch break? The Chief said I could go early if you two needed anything. -J. O’H

Shawn debated the question, looking down at Lassiter’s sleeping form. He texted back quickly:

I was going to have Gus swing by and see if his knowledge from his side-job could serve to be useful. If we need anything from you, I’ll be sure to let you know. I’m sure our little Lassie pup will be back to shooting people and screaming at McNab soon. :) -S.S

Shawn had just sent the last text before he noticed stirring coming from the bed. With a small groan that Carlton would be sure to deny later, he opened his blue eyes and locked his gaze with Shawn’s. “What time issit?” he mumbled.

Shawn looked over at the alarm clock. “It’s a little past nine. How are you feeling?”

Carlton seemed to debate this for a moment. “Sick,” he decided. He curled into himself on the bed, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. Shawn noticed he had his arms wrapped around his stomach, a rare sign of weakness that Shawn knew was reserved solely for him.

“Like I’m-gonna-hurl-now sick? Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

Another groan escaped Carlton. “Maybe, yeah. I can’t imagine that I have anything left though.” The man swung his legs over the bed and stood unsteadily. Shawn grabbed him by his arm and gently guided him to the toilet where his boyfriend quickly lifted the seat and knelt on the floor. A dry heave instantly wracked his entire shaking frame and Shawn was quick to start rubbing his back to offer any form of comfort he could. Carlton dry heaved again, this time wincing in pain as his stomach lurched.

“Just try to breathe,” Shawn said softly.

“I’m not a child, Spencer,” Carlton snapped weakly. “I know-” he was cut off by a sick-sounding belch that was followed by a trickle of bile that left the older man shuddering.

Shawn ignored the cranky attitude and continued to comfort him. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

Carlton nodded. “I feel like I’ve been shot in the gut.”

Deciding to take a risk, Shawn’s hand crept up the hem of Carlton’s SBPD t-shirt where it rested gently on the man’s thin stomach. He could feel it jolt underneath his palm with every heave and he made the executive decision to rub it gently. Surprisingly, he wasn’t shook off, and even more surprisingly, Carlton let out a sigh that sounded appreciative as he rested his head on the arm that was draped across the toilet. “Are you finished?” Shawn asked.

Carlton nodded. “But don’t stop.”

Shawn smiled genuinely, the request reminding him that his partner, despite his rugged exterior, had complete trust in him. “I’ll continue, but not on the bathroom floor. This can’t be good for your old-man knees.”

Carlton lifted his head, and though Shawn couldn’t see his face, he was sure those pools of blue were glaring at him. “I’m six years older than you, Spencer.”

“But already much, much greyer,” Shawn reminded him, kissing the top of Lassiter’s salt and pepper head.

Carlton flushed the toilet and leaned back in Shawn’s welcoming arms. “Don’t forget I have guns hidden throughout the house.”

Shawn chuckled. “Eight, to be exact. Although, I moved the one that was buried in the pistachio bowl. We don’t hide guns with snacks, Lassie.”

“Excuse me for not knowing that I was going to end up living with the living embodiment of a hungry, hungry hippo.”

“That’s Gus,” Shawn retorted, helping the detective stand and leading them back to the bedroom. “I’m more like a raccoon that lives off of other people’s leftovers.” Shawn pulled Lassiter down onto the bed, immediately curling around the man’s lanky frame. He resumed rubbing gentle circles into Carlton’s stomach, feeling the gratification as he felt him relax. “The spirits are talking to me, Lassie. They say that you’re secretly glad you live with a foodie because doing so reminds you that meals can be so much more than coffee and protein bars.”

“You’re not psychic,” Lassiter murmured into his pillow. “And 99% of the meals I see you consume revolt me.”

Shawn let out a soft ‘aww’ as he nuzzled the back of Carlton’s neck. “My boyfriend has a sensitive tummy.”

“Do not. I’m just not a human dumpster.”

“Do so. I think not being able to handle street gyros speaks for itself.”

“So you admit that you poisoned me?”

Shawn smirked. “I am simply stating that dating me is going to slowly level up your stomach until it can compete with mine.”

“Not gonna happ’n,” Lassiter mumbled tiredly. “I am never eating with you again.”

Shawn hummed, listening as his partner’s breathing evened out once more as he fell asleep. “Whatever you say, Lassie,” he murmured sleepily. Shawn too felt himself begin to drift off. He would just take a quick nap with his boyfriend, and when he woke up he’d have Gus’ encyclopedia brain give him some advice. In the meantime, he was perfectly content right where he was.

#psych #fanfic #fanfiction #carlton lassiter #shawn spencer #shawn x lassiter #vomiting #emeto #emetophilia #sickfic #belly rubs #soft boyfriends

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rotp-on-ao3 · 3 months

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I’d like to hear more about your psych fic

How much more? Because I got a lot I can talk about.

I've got angst that I cruelly enjoy writing for it, in which Carlton Lassiter sticks his foot in his mouth consistently that I can talk about. He will definitely make everyone rage. I promise he'll get better, though. Although, people should be careful when I get to writing it out fully. He does say some heavily sexist/designationist shit before he does. (Sorry, not sorry.)

I've got this beautiful friendship for Shawn and Juliet that will lead to Juliet and Gus romancing hardcore. It'll be sweet and everyone will cry. Shawn will be playing matchmaker for that. He loves Juliet and Gus, and knows that they would treat each other right. Especially with the world building I got going on.

Speaking of World Building! This is what I'm most proud of, but I'm not sure it'll make it into the story beyond allusions and brief mentions. As I said, it'll be Alpha/Beta/Omega, so we get the "fun" sexism that goes with it. We've got Alphas that think they rule the world, Betas that are just trying to survive, and (unfortunately) Omegas treated as second-class citizens or worse. It's also a mash of non-shifter and shifter A/B/O dynamics and lore(?). We've got scent markers and the various scent blockers to go with; we got what I call Life Mates which is a mash of chosen, compatible, and True Mates. And we've got shitty court systems when children are involved (a la my own experience with the custody courts as a kid).

Or! Maybe you were asking about my Shassie: The Musical? fic. Yes, that's what I have been calling it as I work on it here and there. But then again, maybe not. Because that one's just silly.

I loved getting to answer this! Thank you for the ask! And If there is anything further anyone wants to know about this or any of my other stories, do not hesitate to drop me an ask! I will answer to the best of my ability!

#rotp answers #rotp wip talk #psych #rotp talks psych #alpha beta omega #carlton lassiter #shassie #shawn spencer #burton guster #juliet o'hara

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moowithmidnight · 4 months

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Can you tell us about Acquired Taste and/or the Brutus song one?!

Thank you so much for the ask!! 😌

My name is Cashmere (Brutus song one) is such a silly title but very accurate. Brutus is a song by The Buttress and it is amazing- and I was thinking of how easily the lyrics could slightly shift and be absolutely perfect for Cashmere. I’m easily influenced by music lol

It’s a non-chronological songfic about the 75th games, her killing Seeder, and her post-death fate! I really do want to finish it, but I’ve never done a songfic before and I am a slow author ^^,

Original lyrics:

My name is Brutus and my name means heavy

So with a heavy heart I’ll drive this dagger into the heart of my enemy

My whole life, you were a teacher and friend to me

Please know my actions are not motivated only by envy

I, too, have a destiny

This death will be art

The people will speak of this day from near and afar

This event will be history, and I’ll be great too

I don’t want what you have, I want to be you

I would write this about Brutus, except I just don’t care about him rip

—

Acquired Taste isn’t actually Hunger Games related (whoopsie) it’s Psych characters! Live laugh love Psych, and I had major brainrot on (Carlton) Lassiter and Juliet’s dynamic.

For context, the whole show is super big on platonic relationships, and I love that. But these two specific characters platonic relationship is so underrated! They are the most partners ever, and we need to talk about that more. It’s a very loose fic, plot wise, more just an exploration of their dynamic and how much they changed from the start of the series! Maybe not my best work-

Snippet:

Carlton frowned, turning to inspect her. “Huh, I guess you do. I never noticed.”

Juliet gave him an incredulous look. “Carlton, how is that even possible, weren’t you dating this woman??”

“First off, it was not dating. Second, I wasn’t looking for you to be a replacement, I don’t care what you look like!”

She raised a eyebrow at him, suppressing a smirk. “I heard I was ‘above everything, not hot’.”

“Oh for the love of-“ he threw his hands up in frustration. “For the last time O’Hara, that’s not what I meant and you know that!”

She just laughed quietly, hiding behind her hand as he huffed grumpily and pretended to focus on the warehouse.

This has really reminded me that I love writing canon-compliant “behind the scenes” fics so much

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shyloudpanda · 1 year

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ANYWAY!

Santabarbaratown 2 talk b/c I can!

So! Lassie picks Shawn up from the repair shop says "hope you ate, we got a lot of work to do." Shawn is all about food whether eating or looking for it, nonstop. As far as I know, Shawn is always the one asking people if they ate, rarely do they ask him.

And despite Shawn joking about Lassiter caring about him, helping go after Henry's shooter, the man does care. He'll never say it, but he never said no. Just "Seriously, get out of my car."

Since Carlton met Marlowe he is being his true season 1 and 2 self again, angry at Shawn. But more calm about it. And that could be less, behind closed doors smooching, and more, 6 years of working (forcefully) together. And that also explains, b/c they are both in relationships now, and older, why they aren't in each other's faces and more relaxed around each other in the last 3 seasons.

Idk I'm just a fan. A fan who is screaming into a dormant fandom, about a once ship, by herself.

#psych #shassie #i'll stop now

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apple-bottom-jeansx · 3 years

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Me: I’ve noticed I really like bitter characters and villains

Roommate: that’s because you think you can fix everyone

Me:

Me:...

Me: it’s too early to make comments like that. You have to wait until noon before you can start pointing out my flaws

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obsidiancreates · 3 months

Text

One Undead To Another (Chapter 6)

(Trigger warnings: drinking as self-medication is briefly mentioned/shown, more mentions of Shawn's neck wound being Very Bad, blood drinking, murder.)

“I’m starving.”

Something about Shawn’s voice makes all three other inhabitants of the car freeze.

There’s a desperation to it, but something else, too. Some underlaying quality that feels wrong, the way the air in the house was Choked with Nothing and the way seeing Shawn bloodied and motionless and devoid of life was inconcievable and the way that-

That-

The car is silent until Lassiter speaks up. “How’s his neck, Guster?”

“I cleaned it up, but-” Gus glances over, and his entire stomach leaps into his throat. It’s horrible, it’s mangled, and it’s Shawn. “Oh my god, I can’t look at it-”

“Do not throw up in this vehicle!” Gus wants to argue that Lassie and Jules are the ones getting vampire ashes and rotten blood all over the seats, but he’s too busy gagging. He tries to look at Shawn just out of the corner of his eye- Shawn is slumped in his seat. He looks like he should be breathing raggedly. He’s not breathing at all.

“Carlton, that’s not the priority right now!” Jules twists in her seat to look back at Shawn and Gus, and when Shawn laughs- quiet and raspy and in a way Gus would almost describe as rapturous, she softens.

And then the ghost, the ghost- Gus can’t handle the ghosts. Sitting in the seat between him and Shawn is Shawn’s grandma, which is freaky enough, but now Shawn’s grandpa is here too sitting inside the passenger seat and probably phasing a little into Jules as well and both ghosts are holding Shawn’s hands looking at him like he’s the dead loved one.

… He kind of is. Gus doesn’t want to think about that. The thought won’t leave him alone.

The ghost of Shawn’s grandpa, right after Shawn laughs, says in an almost scolding tone, “Didn’t your grandmother tell you to stop that kinda thinking?”

Gus wishes he’d been paying attention to the conversation Shawn had been having with his grandma before- or maybe it’s better he didn’t. He hopes he doesn’t know what Shawn was thinking, because his theory is-

Too much. Too much to handle right now.

The car is silent as Shawn talks in weak mumbles to his grandfather, as they start to play a game, as Shawn’s body language goes from limp and tired to limp and relaxed. It’s only then, when he seems completely disconnected from everything, that Lassiter once again breaks the silence.

“I’m driving to the hospital.”

“Carlton, he’s– he’s not–”

“He’s hurt.”

“Hospital can’t help him now, Detective.”

Lassiter, Jules, and Gus all scream in unison as Mary Lightly pops out of the dashboard like it’s a Whack-A-Mole game. Lassiter nearly swerves right off the road, Jules having to reach right through Mary’s head to yank the wheel back the other way at the last second!

Mary is unphased- mentally. Physically, he’s phasing through quite a lot. “You saw what was down there, Detective. You know what happened to him.”

Lassiter grips the steering wheel so tight Gus could swear he hears something crack- a knuckle or a car part, it’s intimidating either way. “He needs medical attention.”

“He needs a coffin.” Mary’s ghost angles his head to look at Shawn, but gets a stern and upset glare from Shawn’s Grandma instead. “That was insensitive. It’s true though. He’s going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow…”

“Can it, Lightly,” Lassiter growls, looking a little green. “Unless you want to tell us what the hell happened in there I don’t want to hear a word.”

“You know what happened down there.”

“No, we really don’t. Mary, please tell us what Shawn was onto, why they had him tied up, why any of this happened!” Jules is pleading, but demanding- she’ll get her answers nicely, or she’ll get them unpleasantly, but either way she will get them. “Why did they do this to him?”

Mary looks at her, and nods once. “Because–” Mary looks Gus in the eyes. “-- he’s psychic.”

Gus closes his eyes. He remembers his lamaze breathing. He prays to god it’ll keep his heart and brain from exploding.

“They needed a psychic because of us. This.” Mary raises a see-through hand out of the air conditioner control knobs and gestures at himself and the other two ghosts. “Spirits congregate around psychics and other undead do not… like our presence. Though they didn’t expect quiet as explosive an ordeal as what went down.”

“What, they knew you’d be there and just didn’t plan for it? Bull.” Lassiter grips onto the story, the ability to poke holes, the ability to be skeptical and analytical and distracted.

“Exactly, Detective. Most psychics don’t do what Shawn does. Most spirits feel neutral at best towards those they follow. But Shawn… he actually uses his gifts to get justice. He’s haunted by fondness more than anything else.”

“They were all repaying him for solving their murders.” Jules’s voice is soft.

“He’s a favorite among the lingering dead. Psychics aren’t just people who can see futures, pasts, or spirits, Detectives. Shawn is one of the living connected to the world of the dead… or he was. This… upset the balance.” Mary gestures at Shawn’s whole body. Shawn himself is still completely disconnected– staring with unblinking, wrong-colored eyes, mumbling nonsense stories to his encouraging grandparents.

“And it let you all into the world?” Jules twists to look back at Shawn again. “Is this permanent?”

“No. In fact I’d say we have…” Mary licks his thumb and sticks it out, looking around at seemingly nothing before nodding to himself. “The rest of this car ride to stick around. Then it’ll be back to the invisible overlapping planes, giving Shawn snippets, and leaving what gets through to him up to the universe’s whims. Be patient with him after this, Detectives. His abilities are going to be… like a whole new experience.”

For a while no-one has anything to say. Mary stays risen out of the dashboard, just watching them all.

“... Is he going to be… Shawn? When this is all over?” Gus knows his voice doesn’t actually sound like when he was a child, but that’s what he hears. He hears himself, young and confused and scared, asking if his best friend is going to be okay.

“Of course he will, which means it’ll be a mixed bag. You know that, Gus.”

Jules swallows. “But will he be different? Himself, but… different? I mean, in the movies it always–”

“Exatrabates the worst traits, makes a spawn a manipulative mess, drains away all self-control in the internal battle for their eternal soul?” Mary finishes for her. “There’s not many former vampires among us, Detectives, so I can’t say for sure what will happen to him. Even the dead don’t know everything.”

“Right. Right. … So we should approach this with… caution. I know, we were going to already, but–”

Shawn’s head makes a thunk sound as it falls down from the glass onto the plastic interior of the door. Gus sits up and starts to reach over, heart pounding as images of Shawn lifeless and pale on the floor of a horrible basement flash to the forefront of his mind-

Shawn’s Grandma grabs his hand before he touches Shawn. “He’s just asleep dear. Best not to touch him yet. Just in case.” She pats Gus’s hand comfortingly. “Let him rest.”

“He usually snores.” Gus’s voice clogs in his throat, coming out thick and hard to understand. Shawn isn’t snoring now. He’s silent. Nothing moves, or makes the faintest hint of noise, or shows life. Because there is no life.

Shawn’s Grandma rubs his hand again. “I know. It… it’ll be difficult to get used to.”

More silence.

“... One the bright side, he was bitten by daywalkers,” Mary says just as they turn onto the street of Shawn’s latest apartment.

“Now’s not the time for puns,” Lassiter growls.

“I agree, did I make one?”

“Actually, I think Shawn’ll find it pretty funny. I’ll tell him… when he wakes up,” Gus says.

Because Shawn, Shawn, has to wake up. It has to be him, he has to, because if he doesn’t or if-if something else does–

He just… has to.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ghosts fade away entirely moments after Lassiter parks. Shawn’s face twists in his sleep for a moment, confused, as he reaches out restlessly to find the now-missing hands on his.

He gets Gus and Lassie hefting him up by his shoulders and legs instead, somehow staying asleep through the ordeal of getting him inside his apartment and dropping him onto his bed. He lays splayed out, arms and legs staying wherever they fell as Lassie and Gus heaved and tossed him. He’s still ashen, and still, and silent.

He looks like a corpse.

“Excuse me a second.” Gus runs into the bathroom and lets loose little more than bile. He retches until he can’t, and then some more, and by the time he stumbles out Shawn has shifted and is now cradling a pillow to his chest. Lassie and Jules stand over the bed, whispering harshly to each other.

“-- give him a chance! Mary said–”

“That he doesn’t know, O’Hara.” Lassiter swallows thickly. “I don’t like it either.”

“You’ve been talking about shooting him for four years.”

“I don’t mean it! Not lethally, anyway. Usually. … Only half the time.”

“Oh, hell no.” Gus puts himself between the detectives and the bed. “You two are not debating staking Shawn while I was throwing up!”

“No, we are not.” Jules levels Lassiter with a glare.

“Yes, we are.”

“You just risked your life to save him, now you wanna kill him?! You’re messed up, Lassie.”

“I don’t want to kill him! But look at him, Guster!”

Gus looks. He sees Shawn, hurt and vulnerable and tired.

“Look at his teeth.”

Shawn’s mouth is slightly parted in sleep, even though no breaths are drawn or exhaled. Gus doesn’t want to see them. He doesn’t want to, but they’re unmissable. Peeking out from the corners of his mouth, sharp and gleaming and dangerous.

He knew they’d be there- he knew what was happening, he was even told outright, but somehow seeing the fangs makes it hit all over again like it’s a surprise and this whole night- no, these just past couple of hours are too much, too much, too much and he collapses.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“He’s Shawn!”

“He could kill someone.”

“He could always kill someone, anyone can kill someone!”

“O’Hara–”

“We did not go through all of that to not even give him a chance to prove he’s capable of staying himself.”

“What if he ends up like them, O’Hara? That’ll be on us.”

“Oh my god, Carlton, that is the most selfish-”

“Not because of that, O’Hara, because we let it happen! Those other ones almost drove us to declaring three murders a cold case.”

“But Shawn caught them! He saw through it!”

“And now he’s also a bloodsucking demon spawn!”

They’ve been going in circles, over and over. Gus passing out didn’t stop them, just paused the argument long enough to make sure he didn’t hit his head and then pick it right back up.

And Juliet knows. She knows why her partner is saying all of this, even when he doesn’t want to, she knows he doesn’t want to say it. But he’s right. If Shawn wakes up, and it’s his face but not him, what can they do? He was already a whirlwind, a force of nature in plaid shirts and jeans, and unstoppable force and immovable object meshed into one. What would he be without a sense of morality? What could he do?

… But it’s Shawn. He has fangs and skin colder than ice and no heartbeat but he’s also cuddling a pillow, and mumbling Gus’s name in his sleep, and he was laughing in the car and it’s him.

“Fine.” Juliet looks around and finds a broken bit of a fence among Shawn’s seemingly entirely random collection of belongings. She shoves it into Lassiter’s hands. “Do it, then.”

He’s visibly taken aback by the sudden change. “Are you serious?”

“Are you?”

They stand in that impasse for a moment, staring each other in the eyes, Lassiter’s hesitant and unsure and Juliet’s hardened and blazing– those red-eyed bloodsuckers could only wish for a glare like hers.

“Alright.” Lassiter squares his shoulders, then shakes them, then rolls them. He clears his throat, and raises the “stake”. He steps closer to the bed, over Gus’s unconscious body, and just above Shawn.

Juliet’s heart pounds.

Lassiter stands over Shawn, The dim lights, in deperate need of replacing, glint off of the fresh fangs in the corners of his mouth. He mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep, lips drawing back to show them in full. His eyes flutter open for just a second, bright red and–

And glazed, unfocused. He reaches out for something, and doesn’t find it, and his face crumples. His eyes shut again, and for the first time since Lassiter laid eyes on him in that basement Shawn draws breath- just to heave a sigh and fall back into breathless sleep, clutching the pillow closer to his body.

Lassiter stands there, holding a stake above Shawn, trying to see the danger here– the fangs and eyes and bloodless skin. He tries to summon up some of the fury, the irritation, the desperate pleas to the universe to just remove Spencer from his life already. It’s usually available in spades, when Shawn is running around like an idiot and making stupid declarations just to undermine him and cracking jokes at the worst times and encouraging Lassiter to go down completely untrodden paths of nonsensical hunches and trying to give him credit to The Chief and helping him primp for a date and–

And–

“... Dammit.” Lassiter lowers his arm, and then chucks the broken fence into a pile of other random stuff. “Damn it to hell!”

Juliet lets out a breath she’d been holding since Shawn opened his eyes, putting her hand on her partner’s shoulder. “We’ll see what the situation is first,” she says softly. “And I have no doubt Shawn will be his usual self when he wakes up. He always is.”

“... You’re probably right.” Lassiter looks down and kicks Gus lightly in the thigh, waking him up. “Spencer’s too much of a stubborn ass to let anything change him anyway. Even death.”

Gus groans and sits up. “That was the weirdest dream…” He looks up at Lassiter and Jules, and then at Shawn on the bed, and the blood drains out of his face. “Oh my god. It wasn’t a dream.”

Jules helps Gus stand back up. “Not a dream, but, Carlton and I came to an agreement. We’re going to make sure Shawn is fine before we do anything rash.”

“Oh. Good, ‘cause, I would’ve hated having to whoop Lassie’s ass.”

“Please. You couldn’t even beat me in a thumb-wrestling contest, much less and actual fight.”

“I could too.”

“You and Spencer fight like toddlers. Even before all this he was a biter, that’s the lowest move available to a grown man.”

“No, the lowest move is a knee to the- you know.”

He and Lassiter both wince just thinking about it. Jules rolls her eyes, and looks at Shawn. “So are we just… waiting for him to wake up now?”

“Seems like it.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I’m seeing if he has any whiskey.” Lassiter walks out into Shawn’s “kitchen”- if it could be called that. This particular apartment used to be a small yoga studio, which means lots of open space and nowhere for a stove. The fridge is barely even a minifridge, and all it has is half a leftover burrito. Instead of cabinets there are plastic tubs, and they’re mostly full of non-perishable junky snacks.

“Great. As if tonight isn’t the biggest reason to get drunk I’ve had in my entire life, including my separation.”

“I think he’s going to be out for a while,” Jules sighs, coming into the “kitchen” as well. “Gus even pretended to use his hair gel and he still stayed asleep.”

Lassiter looks at the door. “... I think we need to go to a bar.”

“A bar? Carlton, we’re covered in ash and blood and Shawn could wake up any time.”

“I know, O’Hara. I just–” Lassiter brings a hand up to smooth his hair, and it’s shaking. “Could use a drink.”

“... Yeah. I could too.” Jules sighs. “But we can’t just leave Gus here. I know I said… but he was mumbling about being starving before…”

“And even if Guster gets away…”

“... But I can’t even imagine that. Can you? Shawn just… attacking someone?”

“O’Hara, before tonight I didn’t even believe Spencer was psychic.”

“Right. … Still, it seems genuinely impossible that could ever happen. Shawn just doesn’t…”

“... It does seem pretty impossible. Spencer and Dangerous don’t even feel like apart of the same language when put together.”

“Right?”

“... What if we put a cross in front of his door? To hold him inside?”

“... Actually…”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gus would have bet his entire 401K on the certainty he’d never go to a bar with Lassie and Jules without Shawn before tonight. And he almost hadn’t, until Shawn rolled over and Gus caught sight of his neck again and had another fit of gagging and crying that ended with Jules helping him nurse a cup of warm tap water while Lassiter tried and failed to find non-stale crackers.

So now he’s nibbling at peanuts, drinking more heavily than he has since he got married in a sweater vest with a goat as his best man, and trying to forget that he saw his friend dead on the ground less than four hours ago.

He’s not succeeding at it yet, and it looks like Lassie and Jules aren’t either- so another round of shots are called for, and maybe this time it’ll be enough to make his hands stop shaking.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

SMASH!

The sound of breaking glass doesn’t get him up. Nor does the unsubtle hiss of pain, or the thump of clumsy boots against the ground.

The smell of blood is what makes him open his eyes. Not quite awake, though- not really. He’s in a haze, and he’s dreaming, and he’s hungry.

“Stupid window,” he hears a voice mutter. “Wh- since when is this- aw hell, how outdated is my small businesses map? There’s nothing worth more than fifty bucks in here.”

He’s not sure when he got up- isn’t that the most disorienting part of dreams? Things just Happen, and there’s no trackable reasoning for it. One second he was on the bed, the next he’s crouched low in his doorway, out of immediate eyeline, just like it was drilled into him to do…

“Does this heap at least have band-aids somewhere? Sss, ah, crap. Right through my glove, this is- ah, shit, if anyone’s home I’m toast. … Nah, nah, someone woulda woken up by now.”

It doesn’t smell quite as good as… actually, he’s not sure what he’s comparing the smell to. Is he comparing? This is a weird dream. His stomach hurts. His mouth hurts just as bad. When he takes a deep breath, he can taste iron in the air. The breath holds in his chest. Doesn’t he usually have to breath out? His chest doesn’t hurt though. It doesn’t matter anyway. How hasn’t this wannabe burglar noticed him? He’s practically getting a piggyback ride from the man.

Bum-bum. Bum-bum. Bum-bum.

It’s still missing something. He doesn’t know what. But it’s still good.

“Not a single band-aid, who lives like thi- mmmph!”

Warm. It’s warm, tangy, a little sweet. It coats his throat like a pineapple smoothie after hours of pouring over a stubborn case without a break. Dry, cracked, raw- it all goes away, smoothed over as it flows down his throat. His neck starts to hurt less- had it been hurting the whole time? His stomach was. It’s finally calming down. He bites harder. What is he biting? He doesn’t know. What a weird dream. It’s all gone so, so soon. He drops something. Something big hits the floor. He turns his cloudy vision away and stumbles back to bed. He collapses onto it, grabbing a pillow and curling loosely around it. He’d woken up feeling cold, stiff, but now he sinks into his mattress. The breath finally leaves his lungs, a deep sigh, as he drifts back into a more restful sleep than he ever had in his life.

#psych #psychusa #psych usa #psych 2006 #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic

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chess-blackmyre · 5 years

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Summary: After coming across new evidence, Henry enlists Juliet's help in solving a case from the Spencer family's past--and to keep the investigation from Shawn

Chapter Summary: Juliet examines Jeanie’s personal effects, and Henry demonstrates how to break into a car. Shawn stops by his dad’s place to ask for a favor

#psych #psych usa #psychusa #shawn spencer #henry spencer #juliet o'hara #shules #my stuff #my writing #we need to talk about jeanie #burton guster #carlton lassiter

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i-wish-i-wasnt-spikey · 2 years

Text

What ever you do… DON’T imagine Lassie being grumpy on Valentine’s Day and absolutely DO NOT Imagine Shawn noticing Lassie being in a Mood™️ and making him a little Valentine’s Day card signed “your secret admirer” and ABOVE NOTHING ELSE DO NOT I REPEAT DO NOT imagine Lassie falling in love with whoever wrote him this note- because the note is a long paragraph about all these little specific details and mannerisms that Carlton does and how much the person who wrote it loves all of them. Don’t think about how Lassie has never felt this seen or noticed by anyone before. Don’t imagine Lassie dusting the note for prints and asking people for handwriting samples to submit to compare against the note. Really try hard not to think about the look on Lassiter’s face when he realizes he has a match for the prints but they were in the criminal database system. Don’t imagine what that look changes into when he sees that it was Shawn’s prints and he remembered that Shawn stole a car when he was younger. DO NOT IMAGINE how Lassie calmly walks up to Shawn, grabs his arm, pulling him away from his friends and growling “we need to talk Spancer”. Don’t think about Lassie sitting him down in the interrogation room and starting to lecture him about messing with a man’s feelings when Shawn cuts him off to tell him he ment every last word. DON’T DO IT DON’T THINK ABOUT LASSIE PULLING SHAWN OVER THE TABLE TO KISS HIM WITH A SMILE OF RELIEF ON HIS FACE DON’T DO IT-

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tragic-shadows · 2 years

Text

Shawn Takes A Shot In The Dark

Word Count: 1486

Warnings: None

Pairings: Shassie

A/N: Ok ok, listen.. yes I have requests for a whole bunch of Gibbs stuff. However, I dug up some stuff from my AO3 account and apparently a lot of people still read Psych. Every once and awhile I’ll dish out one of these in between NCIS fics. Anyways enjoy :)

“Shawn’s been shot. Shawn’s been shot. Shawn’s been shot.” The words echoed through Lassiter’s head. He looked at the blood on his hands and felt his pulse quicken. His vision blurred as he sat in the cold gravel.

“Carlton?” Juliet called. Lassiter just stared at her and felt a lump for, form in his throat.

“B-based on the blood patterns and marks on the ground,” Lassiter began, shakily, after they had called in the department. “He was shot here and dragged this way.” Some more things were said but Lassiter was still replaying the words. The idiot psychic had gotten himself shot. “Recovered a single.. shell casing. Shooter used a 45. auto. Lassiter exchanged words about the arrival of Henry before finally regaining his wits. “If we do this, we do this my way. No questions. Spencer will ride with me. We’ll chase the breadcrumbs to find him.”

Lassiter and Henry got into the car and sped off. “Why’d you do that?” Henry asked.

“Do what? Tell you I didn’t want you?”

“No. Why didn’t you send O’Hara and Gus to find Shawn? Why did you volunteer to go after him, you don’t even like him.”

“Shut up.” Lassiter growled.

“No, but seriously, why did you do it?”

“It’s my job. Listen, Spencer, I don’t want him dead, alright? Yes, he pisses me off daily, and he’s annoying as crap, but it doesn’t mean I want to be responsible for his death. I’m the most capable investigator here, so its obvious that I should look for your son.”

Henry thought about this for a moment before speaking again. “Lassiter, can I be honest with you? A little man to man?”

“Uh no. Here’s the texts, but I have no idea this means, it’s all gibberish.”

“No, it’s abbreviations old man.”

“Uh, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little younger than you.”

They bickered like an old married couple for a few minutes before Lassiter took off the way Shawn had led them.

“I was on the force before you were alive. I know feelings when I see them.”

“Feelings? Henry, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, and I sure as hell don’t want to know. Maybe for once I want to do something nice for Shawn.”

“Right there! See, there. That’s it. Haha. You called him Shawn.” Henry exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, but what are you implying?”

“Nothing,” Henry sighed. “Forget I even said anything.”

“Are you implying that I have a crush on Spencer? Because I can assure you that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, and I have heard people say Ronald Reagan is a terrible president.”

“He was.”

“Do you want me to shoot you?”

They followed the lead Shawn gave them until Lassiter got the call. “Hello? Spencer?!”

“This call is to say good-bye.”

“Spencer are you ok?” Lassiter bumbled. “Where are you?”

“Don’t… don’t asked me any questions, cause I can’t say anything else. If you care about me, you’ll understand.”

Lassiter pulled out his pen and paper incase Shawn gave him any clues. “I’m listening.”

“I’m not gonna be able to have much of a future anymore. But if you look back at where we were, I’ll be there, okay?”

“Back?” Was all the Detective could utter. “What are you talking about?”

“The wind chimes that I got you for your birthday, every time you hear them, from now on, that’ll be me.”

“First of all, you are going to be fine. We are going to find you, okay? Don’t worry.”

“Listen, before… before I go, I have to say one more thing.”

“Of course, what is it?”

I need you to know that…” Lassiter heard him take a deep breath. “I love you.”

Lassiter’s heart skipped a beat and his mind stopped working, unable to form the words he needed to say back, “Spencer, I, I think that I—“

“Good-bye, Abigail.” And the line went dead.

Lassiter started at his phone. Of course that was all a cover. Spencer didn’t love him. Why would he? It was all a child’s fantasy.

“Lassiter?” Henry waved his hand in front of Lassiter’s face.

“He’s alive,” Lassiter whispered. “We have to go back, wind chimes, there were wind chimes at the gas station, that has to be where he is.” Lassiter called in backup and they trekked back up the hill.

“I love you. Good-bye, Abigail.”

“Alright you’re done.” Shawn sighed as the phone was snatched away from him. Please get the hint Lassie, please. He crossed his fingers. But what happened next was a blur, there was a shot fired and suddenly Shawn was up on his feet, being hauled out and into the bed of the truck. Longmore was laying cold on the ground as Shawn was taken away by the other man. His hands were bound and his phone taken.

“Don’t try anything, you hear me?” He told Shawn.

“No, don’t worry I won’t.” Shawn winced, turning so his bad shoulder wasn’t taking all the pressure. He closed his eyes and made a silent plea for Lassiter. They were about a mile down the road and that’s when he heard the engines. Shawn opened his eyes and smiled, because driving down the road was a blue Toyota echo and a black Ford Fusion. “That a boy, Lass.”

Lassiter pulled up next to the truck, screaming things at the driver while Shawn worked on the ropes. The truck swerved left and right and Shawn struggled to hold on. “Jules! Move closer so I can jump on the car!” Shawn proposed.

“Uh no, Shawn this is a company car!” Gus countered. “Go jump on Lassiter’s car.”

“No, Spencer this is a brand new vehicle—“

And Shawn jumped. He held on with his fingertips until Lassiter handed him the gun. The first thing Shawn did was feel it. He loved the feel of a gun in his hand, especially Lassiter’s. He took a few quick shots and blew out the pickup trucks engine. He handed over the gun and let Carlton do the rest.

“Nice shooting, detective.” Lassiter smirked, knowing very well what he had just said.

“Oh I’m sorry, did you just call me detective” Shawn responded, bewildered.

“Pssh. No.” Lassiter rolled his eyes.

After the perp was apprehended, Lassiter volunteered to take Shawn to get his wound treated. It really was just a flesh wound, but Lassiter knew it must hurt like hell. Nothing was said, just dead silence for at least an hour, only nods and mouthed “thank you”’s.After getting it treated, they took a walk down to the pier.

“Were you scared?” Lassiter finally spoke.

“Yeah. Yeah I was.” Shawn laughed to cover his pain.

“I was scared too.” Lassiter admitted.

“Yeah, my dad told me you rushed outta the station like a man running a marathon. Thanks, really, thank you. I’m very glad to not be dead right now. You know when I said I loved you I thought for a second you were gonna say it back. They had a gun at me, you know. And I told them her name was Abigail.”

“I was just staying in the act, in case you were on speaker.” Lassiter explained.

“Right, right, because you sound so much like an Abigail.” Shawn joked, trying to break up the seriousness, seriousness Lassiter was still dealing with.

“This isn’t a joke, Spencer. Seriously, are you okay?” Lassiter put his hand on Shawn’s shoulder.

Shawn looked out over the pier and sighed., shaking of Lassie’s hand. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“But how are you now? These things shake people up. Even I would be scared, and that’s me talking.”

“How about we don’t talk about this anymore? Not really my favorite subject at the moment. Now what I would like to talk about is—“ Shawn turned and looked at Lassiter, his voice failing him. Lassiter’s blue eyes were like icicles, soft icicles, digging into his soul. “Lass I almost died.” He croaked. “I almost died and- and all I could think about was not dying. And so I told them I needed to call my girlfriend, Abigail. And, and so I called you. I could have called Jules, I could have called the Chief, I could have called Gus, McNab, anyone.” He took a deep breath. “But I called you, and you found me. You could have passed it off to anyone else, but you didn’t.” Shawn choked again on his words. “Carlton you saved my life and I don’t know what to do.”

“How about this?” Lassiter did the unthinkable in Shawn’s mind and wrapped his arms around Shawn, pulling him close. Shawn accepted and put his head on Lassiter’s shoulder, letting his tears fall and squeezing harder.

“Yeah,” Shawn sobbed. “Yeah this is good.”

“And Shawn? You’re welcome.”

#shassie #sharlton #shawn spencer #carlton lassiter #psych usa #shawn x lassie

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