Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’ve seen enough horror movies to know not to go down there…” Shawn says, staring at the descent into darkness that is the basement stairwell, “…first.” He grins, turning towards Lassiter who shoots back an exasperated frown. 

“There’s nothing down there that won’t go down with a bullet, just follow me.” His hand hovers over his holster before he starts to head down the stairs, slowly getting enveloped by the shadows. Shawn briefly considers staying upstairs, but after a second alone he quickly follows behind. 

“You should know, this is very sexy.” 

“Just shut up, stay close, and talk to the walls or whatever it is you do.” Lassiter presses onward and despite the fact that the detective wasn’t looking at him, Shawn runs a hand along the peeling wallpaper and then hovers a hand by his head. 

“I just talked to the walls and they don’t appreciate your tone.” 

“Well tell the walls that I don’t appreciate being stuck with an arrogant man child who does nothing but waste mine and the department's time.”

“Well I just told them that you said you love me.” Replies Shawn, paying careful attention to his feet as to not trip in the hazy darkness of the basement. There was only one flashlight between the two of them, and Lassiter wasn’t exactly sharing. 

The head detective stops suddenly and Shawn nearly bumps right into him. 

“Woah there Lassie, put on your hazards, I could have rear ended you!” Lassiter doesn’t reply; instead he angles his flashlight up the wall revealing a heavy metal door with an oversized handle and combination lock. 

“Looks like we just found what we’ve been looking for.” Says Lassiter, and despite the fact that Shawn can’t see his face, he can picture the self-satisfied smirk, “Now I just need to crack the code…”

“Hey, there’s no I in team Lassie, let me take a looksie.” 

Lassiter huffs in frustration, pushing in front of Shawn to pour over the lock himself. 

“I’ll have you know that I took a highly specialized class in code cracking.”

“How da vinci of you.” Quips Shawn, though his mind is elsewhere. He’s searching through the folder in his mind where he shoved all the case information collected thus far. It’s a six digit code, but he doesn’t take this guy to be one to settle for a birthdate. However… a different date wouldn’t be out of the question. Then it dawns on him, and he throws his hand up to hover just by his forehead despite the fact that Lassiter’s attention is elsewhere. 

“I’m being spoken to from— from behind the veil!” He lunges forward and Lassiter begrudgingly steps aside, “08…19…03!” His fingers dance over the different numbers before there’s a satisfying click.

“Good job Spencer.” Mumbles Lassiter, the congratulations barely audible. The detective once again takes charge and grasps the handle of the safe before pulling the heavy door open, the bottom scraping harshly against the floor. 

Lassiter’s flashlight beam illuminates the interior of the safe, and it’s nearly completely empty. Except for… the body of the business tycoon’s wife. The wife who had passed away on August 19th, 2003. Though you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at her, as her body was nothing more than a skeleton.

He turns to Lassiter to say something, though he’s not sure what. Right as he does, he sees a figure burst from the shadows. He reaches out to help but there’s nothing he can do before Lassiter is struck in the head with the side of a shotgun. The man’s face falls slack as he drops like a sack of bricks. Then that same gun is leveled at Shawn’s head. 

He raises his hand on instinct, words tripping out of his mouth. 

“Hey, hey woah! Let’s not do anything rash, yeah?”

The man just stares at him. William Stephens. The founder of a successful tech company and the murderer of his wife, Alice, six years prior. 

“You don’t want to be a serial killer dude. One murder, that’s already too many but three? That’s like three life sentences. And if immortality is invented that’s going to really suck for you!” 

“What the hell are you saying?” Asks the man, his tone dark yet slightly anxious.

“I’m just saying, everybody makes mistakes. You didn’t mean to kill Alice did you? But you also knew you couldn’t risk losing everything you’d built, so you covered it up. And now you’re in too deep. I can help you!”

“Nobody can help me!” William shouts, and Shawn knows he has just seconds before this goes even further south, so he lunges forward, wrestling with the gun. 

Bang!

Shawn stumbles backwards, his hand falling to his side. His eyes follow the touch where he is met with a horrible sight. His legs give out beneath him and he hits the cold ground hard, his heart pounding hard and fast in his chest. Before he can think of any kind of plan, he’s grabbed by William and shoved into the walk-in safe, Lassiter right alongside him. Shawn tries to scramble to his feet but is doubled over but the searing pain in his side. He can do nothing but watch the meager light of the basement disappear as the safe door slams shut and he’s plunged into complete darkness.

Chapter Text

“Lassie?” He calls, not attempting to hide the desperation in his voice. 

“God Spencer, why are you always so loud?” Grumbles the detective before his tone shifts on a dime, “I heard a gunshot, were you hit?”

“Aw Lassie, I didn’t know you cared.” Replies Shawn but the attempt at humor is undercut when a sharp pain rolls over him like a typhoon and he cries out. 

“Where?“ asks Lassiter urgently, and Shawn has to take several steadying breaths before he can grit out. 

“Side.” 

Lassiter curses and Shawn can hear him moving before he’s just about blinded by a light. 

“I see the light, I’m going to follow it!” He cries dramatically, but Lassiter does not laugh as he aims the flashlight to assess the bullet wound. 

“You have a second flashlight?” Asks Shawn, remembering the previous one rolling towards the direction of the stairs after Lassiter had been hit. 

“Of course I do. And three guns, a pocket knife, and a standard issue compass.”

“You’re like a Quintico pack mule.” He quips, and attempts a light hearted smile, but Lassiter just frowns, his eyebrows knitting together. 

“It doesn’t look like it hit anything vital.” He assesses with the detached formality of a doctor performing an autopsy… which isn’t comforting.

“Yippee.” Replies Shawn dryly. 

“But blood loss is a concern, especially if nobody finds us within the hour.” He quickly pulls off his suit jacket and ties it tightly around Shawn’s waist, applying pressure to the wound. “Did you tell Guster where you were going?”

“Not directly. But I did leave a sticky note!” He pauses, “But I don’t remember where I stuck it. Did you tell anybody?” 

“No, of course I didn’t Spencer! This hairbrain scheme was completely against protocol. We should never have come here alone.”

“Don’t beat yourself up Lassie, I can respect a 3 a.m. hunch you can’t shake.”

“Well I never should have called you. Which is a blanket statement from now to—oh yeah— forever!” 

“Hey, what happened to bedside manners?” Replies Shawn, wincing at a new wave of pain. 

“Sorry.” Replies Lassiter, and Shawn is taken aback by the genuine nature of his apology. He’s about to say something in reply when Lassiter suddenly falls into a rough sitting position from crouching. 

“Woah, you alright?” 

Lassiter waves a dismissive hand, and nods though he seems to regret the action as soon as he’d done it and massages the side of his head that had come in contact with the gun. 

Shawn’s had his fair share of hits on the old noggin, so he can sympathize with the discomfort that Lassiter is experiencing. Aren’t they a sight, the three of them? Shawn with a bullet wound (if he had a nickel…), Lassiter with a concussion, and the skeleton is, well, a skeleton. 

“Gus and Jules will find us.” Says Shawn, not sure who he is attempting to comfort.

“It’s barely four-thirty in the morning, Spencer.”

“Gus wakes up early he–“ his voice catches in his throat when he attempts to shift into a more comfortable position but ends up doubled over, fighting nausea with deep shaky breaths. 

He’s nearly shocked into a stupor when he feels a tentative hand land on his shoulder and squeeze it once. It was a slightly clumsy attempt at comfort, but coming from Lassiter it might have well been a bear hug. 

His head swims as he attempts to level his breathing and to slow his racing heart until finally he feels comfortable enough to sit back upright. When he looks up he’s met with a face etched with concern, but after a split second Lassiter shifts his expression back to one of mild indifference. 

“You should sit against the wall,” instructs Lassiter, and Shawn obliges, scooting until his back hits the solid interior of the safe. From his new position he’s only inches away from the deceased wife. Shawn isn’t sure which roommate Lassiter prefers less, the skeleton or him. 

With the newfound support of the wall Shawn suddenly feels very tired, and he allows his eyes to slip closed. But after only a handful of seconds of rest he is slapped swiftly on the cheek. 

“What the hell!” He cries, his hand jumping up to rub his sore skin, though the motion aggravates his side. 

“I needed to make sure you weren’t passing out.”

“Well just ask me next time!” He bites back. Lassiter seems to contemplate that for a moment before shrugging slightly. Then his smug expression shifts into a worried one once again and he rubs an arm against his forehead. 

“It’s getting warm in here. There’s no circulation in this damn box.” 

“I hadn’t noticed, a bit distracted.” Replies Shawn, though now that Lassiter mentions it, it is uncomfortably warm. 

Lassiter settles himself against the opposite wall, and steadies his gaze on Shawn, the flashlight held lazily in his hand. 

“How are you holding up?” 

“Honestly? I’ve been better. But I’ve also been worse, so I’ll call it a draw.”

Lassiter cocks an eyebrow, asking without words, worse? 

“Okay, maybe not much worse, but definitely equally bad. I’ve been shot before;  this isn’t my first rodeo.”

“In the shoulder, which is like not being shot at all.” Dismisses Lassiter, before seemingly regretting his response and adding, “I’ve actually never been shot.”

“Really?” Shawn replies, incredulous. For a man who is always running into situations, guns a-blazing, he assumed it would have backfired on him at some point. 

“If we’re being honest… I kind of want to be, just to know what it feels like. 

“Well I can tell you that you’re not missing out.” He replies, leaning his head back against the wall as his side screams at him. Lassiter sets the flashlight down, and they sit in silent darkness for some time before the detective continues speaking. 

“I don’t want to be shot, but sometimes I imagine jumping in front of somebody and taking a bullet for them.” Something about the way he can’t see Lassiter at all makes their little prison feel something like a confessional booth. 

“Blaze of glory.” Shawn adds knowingly.

“The respect I would get? The accolades?”

“I’ll make sure to save one of the trophies I get for you when we get out.” Jokes Shawn, but Lassiter just shakes his head. 

“Despite how much it pains me to admit it, you’re a… brave man.” The last two words are mumbled. 

Shawn is speechless, which he isn’t sure if it’s attributed to the blood loss or the genuine compliment from the other man.

“If a gun was aimed at Guster, I know you wouldn’t hesitate to jump in front of him. Hell, you forced your way into a hostage situation just because your friend was inside. You’re an idiot , and yet…” there’s a swell of silence, “And I hate you, but I also wish sometimes that I could be you.”

Speechless. Shawn always had something to say, a joke to crack, but it’s like the world’s been flipped upside down. Maybe Lassiter scrambled his brains a bit too much from the concussion.

The two sit in silence as Lassiter rolls up his sleeves and wipes sweat from his brow. Shawn is starting to feel more and more woozy by the second and he’s losing track of how long they’ve been in the safe. Finally he finds words, 

“Being head detective is really cool. If this was a TV show you’d be like the main character.” He pauses and grins, “With your blonde bombshell partner.”

Lassiter chuckles and shakes his head, 

“I am pretty cool aren’t I? Head detective Carlton Lassiter. It just sounds right.”

“And humble too.” Adds Shawn. 

“You know Spencer, I don’t think we’ve ever had a real conversation?”

“I’ve tried, but you’re usually busy telling me to shut up and leave.”

“Yeah, well I guess you’re more palatable when you’ve been shot.”

“Blood loss brings out the best in me.” Says Shawn before a new wave of dizziness grips him and it feels like he’s falling despite sitting on solid ground. He drops his head into his hands, and focuses on not getting sick or passing out, or both. Lassiter must hear his sharp focused breaths, and clicks on his flashlight, moving closer to the other man. 

“Shawn, I'm going to examine the wound.” He says before untying the suit jacket and exhaling a dejected breath at the sight. 

“Good thing…” Shawn has to pause to take a breath, “Good thing Gus isn’t here. He’d be painting the walls.”

Lassiter hums in agreement, distracted by applying tighter pressure to the wound with the suit jacket. However well intentioned, it only caused the vertigo to worsen and Shawn found himself falling forwards. 

“Woah, hey! Hey!” Lassiter chides, carefully supporting the man’s weight by his shoulders. Then in an awkward contortion of long limbs he helped the pseudo psychic lay down, while attempting to avoid the skeleton. 

“Sorry, went boneless on you.” Mumbles Shawn with a faint grin as his eyes become too heavy to keep open. 

“Spencer, don't make me slap you again! You know I can’t let you sleep.”

“What are you, my dad, you can’t…” his voice drops off for a beat before he finishes, “—can’t tell me what to do.”

Lassiter tugs at the dress shirt which is now clinging to his body with sweat, but Shawn isn’t feeling the heat of the confined space. If anything, he feels cold. 

“Tell me about your dad.” Lassiter says, latching onto a topic to keep Shawn talking and awake. This is entirely uncharacteristic for Lassiter in two regards: he never asks questions regarding his co-workers personal lives and he never wants Shawn to keep talking. 

“My dad?” Asks Shawn, his voice soft, “He was alright.” 

“That’s not an answer and you know it. Elaborate.” 

“ Hmph , okay… he wanted me to be the best. But my best was never good enough. I used to think he hated me” Shawn laughs weakly, “Sometimes I still do.”

Something akin to sympathy shifts inside Lassiter, which is not a feeling he’s overly familiar with. At least not by name. 

“I miss my old man like hell. You’re lucky to still have Henry around, you know that?”

“Oh yeah, sorry, I know. It’s just… complicated.”

“Most things are.” Says Lassiter, scrambling for a new topic.

“Why do you pretend to be psychic?” He asks, though his tone is less interrogative and more curious. 

“Not… pretending.” Shawn replies, his words slurring around the edges. 

“Cut the crap Spencer. Your case success rate is extraordinary. You always manage to spot things I don’t, and you must have a nearly perfect photographic memory. But why the act?”

“Perfect.”

“What?”

“Not nearly perfect. Perfect photographic memory.”

“So you admit it!” Lassiter feels like jumping up and doing a victory dance, though in the given situation that may be inappropriate. His heart hammers in his chest as he imagines all the people he could say “I told you so” to.

“Yep, you win.” 

“I always knew you—“ Shawn’s face had gone slack and Lassiter’s heart skips a beat, “Spencer?”

No response. 

“I will slap you again.” He presses two fingers to the side of his neck, finding the pulse fainter than he’d like but there, “Shawn?” He asks again, softer this time. Again, nothing. 

The walls of the safe suddenly feel a lot closer, the darkness feels darker, and the quiet quieter. He’s alone. 

“Help!” He bangs on the safe door, “Help, anyone!” The yelling makes his head feel like it’s about to explode, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

Chapter Text

Juliet and Gus pull up to William Stephens home at 6:00 a.m. on the dot. 

“Stay behind me, Gus. If Stephens is our murderer then we don’t want to be blindsided. Backup is three minutes out.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Gus replies, happy to let Juliet lead the way up the path to the front door. She raps on the wood, calling out, 

“SBPD! Open up!” 

The two wait with bated breath, each second stretching miles. Juliet is about to pound the door again when it cracks open and the tentative face of William Stephens peeks through.

“Mr. Stephens, I’m Detective O’Hara from the Santa Barbara Police Department. If you’d let me and my partner in, we’d like to ask you a few questions.” 

The man’s eyes flick between Juliet and Gus before finally he opens the door the rest of the way and gestures for them to step inside. The first thing Gus notices is that his hair is completely disheveled and his hands are fidgeting at his sides. His body language makes him an open book. 

“We don’t intend reopen old wounds but we would like to discuss the circumstances of your wife’s death with you.”

“I thought you closed that case years ago?” He asks, shifting on his feet. He hasn’t invited either of them to sit. 

“We have some reason to believe your wife was murdered Mr. Stephens. And you are our primary suspect.” 

“And you waited all this time to come to this ridiculous conclusion, just so you could barge in and upset me? I loved my wife! I loved her!” 

“We’re not saying you didn’t sir. But recent documentation has been uncovered, and facts aren’t lining up. Mr. Stephens, where is your wife’s body?” 

The man freezes, his hands stilling by his sides, before moving again in a flash and pulling out a gun. Gus squeals, throwing his arms up over his face. 

“I never meant for it to happen! You need to believe me!”

Juliet's gun mirrors William’s, though her arm doesn’t shake like his does. 

“I do believe you. I do.” To her side Gus nods emphatically, “And I can help you. You just need to lower your weapon.”

“I messed up. I was scared, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody else.”

“Anybody else?” Juliet asks, “Shawn Spencer and Carlton Lassiter are friends of mine. Where are they?”

William is sobbing now, though he hasn’t lowered his gun. 

“With Alice.” He chokes out and Gus feels sick. Shawn’s dead. This sick son of a bitch killed his best friend. In a wave of pure rage, he screams and lunges forward, tackling William to the ground.

Juliet wastes no time cuffing the man and reading him his rights, while Gus stumbles to his feet, all the blood rushing to his head, making it feel heavy and staticky. Shawn’s dead. 

And then he hears it. A sound so faint he almost convinced himself he’d imagined it before it came again. Slowly he starts walking towards the direction of a door that’s open ajar. He pulls it open further, and there it is again! A muffled sound that is most certainly louder than it was before. Though it’s coming from a very dark and very scary looking basement. And Gus has watched Shawn watch enough horror movies to know not to go down there. But he’d jump into a house on fire for Shawn, so he takes the steps down, keeping a death grip on the hand rail. 

When he reaches flat ground he feels along the wall for a light switch, his heart hammering in his chest, before finally his fingers find purchase and the basement is illuminated… along with the sight of a walk in safe. 

“Hello?” He calls out, his voice cracking slightly. 

“Thank god! We’re in here!” Cries a voice that despite being muffled slightly still is undeniably Lassiter. The lack of Shawn chiming in does nothing to help the nausea settling in Gus’s stomach. 

He runs forward to the safe, his hands landing in the keypad. 

“What’s the code?” He asks, hoping to god that they know it. 

“It’s, it’s— 08 something…” Gus hits the first two numbers, “081903!“ 

Gus finishes the sequence and is finally able to take a breath when there’s a clicking sound and he’s able to pull the handle. Though the breath catches in his throat at the sight that greets him. 

Lassiter is sitting with his gangly legs all angles, hands pressing against Shawn’s side which is saturated with a dark red. His friend’s face is a waxy white and he’s passed out cold. 

“Stop gawking and call an ambulance!” Barks Lassiter. Gus has to turn away as he dials the numbers, desperately suppressing a gag. He’d thought Shawn had looked awful the last time he’d been shot… 

He rattles off the address to the 911 operator, explaining the situation.

“Tell them Santa Barbara’s head detective will have all their asses if they don’t get somebody here right now!” 

Gus does not tell them that in those exact words, but does mention that two employees of the SBPD had been attacked. They tell him that somebody will be there in just five minutes. However as he looks back at his best friend, five minutes feels too long. 

“Gus, where—“ Juliet had come down the stairs and froze mid sentence, her eyes going wide, “Oh my god.”

“Lassiter, what happened?”

“The bastard blindsided me. He clocked me with his gun and then shot Sh— Spencer. We’ve been in here with a very dead woman since 4:30 this morning!” His chest is heaving as his agitation grows, his eyes wild, “I’ve been yelling for the past hour, ever since he passed out on me.”

“Wait— Alice is in there?” Asks Juliet at the same time that Gus cries, 

“An hour!” 

The next five minutes go by in a blur. EMTs take Shawn out in a stretcher, Gus trailing behind, nearly stepping on the paramedics heels. Lassiter refuses any medical attention, insisting instead that he make a direct route to the hospital, with sirens. 

And of course he got his way. 

Juliet and Gus follow behind in the blueberry, going slower than Lassiter but still more than five over. Though in the end all three of them just end up sitting in poorly cushioned chairs in the hospital waiting room. Gus is familiar with these chairs, he even has one that he’s mentally reserved for himself. It’s right next to the water cooler, and is slightly more comfortable than any of the rest of them. The fact that he is aware of this is evidence to the fact that Shawn is a danger magnet. Though not in the traditional sense. Danger is a Shawn magnet. 

“How’d you end up finding us?” Asks Lassiter after a long stretch of anxious silence. Gus reaches into his pocket, finding the crumbled up sticky note and flattening it on his thigh before holding it up for Lassiter to read.

“Off to mister dollar sign dollar sign dollar sign’s house—“ Lassiter squints at the scrawled writing, “—with, is that a rudimentary drawing of a penguin?”

“I found it stuck to the coffee machine in the Psych office.”

“Why wouldn’t he just text you?” Asks Juliet. 

“Why wouldn’t he write it in English?” Asks Lassiter. 

“I stopped asking why Shawn does the things he does when we were eight.” Gus tucks the sticky note back in his pocket and silence resumes. 

“Next time you go running into the house of somebody you suspect of murder, call me?” Says Juliet after a few minutes. Lassiter glances over at her, guilt tugging at his features before they harden into defiance. 

“Shawn had been a vital resource on this case… and I cared less to wake him up in the middle of the night than I did you.”

“And you knew I would tell you to wait until the morning.” Juliet adds, shooting him a pointed look.

“Maybe that too. I’ll admit my approach to the situation was reckless.”

Juliet was surprised when the sentence didn’t continue. Lassiter is not one to admit to a mistake. 

“Family of Shawn Spencer?” A doctor approaches them, and they stand, waiting. 

“He’s out of the woods and resting. We were able to address the blood loss in time, and he will make a full recovery, though I wouldn’t recommend any strenuous activity for a few weeks.”

“Can we go see him?” Asks Gus hopefully. 

“He’s sleeping right now, but since Mr. Spencer has been transferred to a room you three are welcome to sit with him or come back any time during our visiting hours.” 

Gus wastes no further time getting the room number before he is booking it down the hall at a medal worthy speed walking pace, with Juliet and Lassiter trailing behind. Gus skids to a halt in front of Shawn’s room, taking a deep breath before stepping inside. As promised, Shawn is sleeping and while his face is still paler than usual, it doesn’t look quite as lifeless as before. Gus hates seeing him like this. Shawn Spencer isn’t supposed to be cooped up in a hospital bed with wires and beeping machines. He’s supposed to be running around making Gus pull his nonexistent hair out. 

Lassiter stands awkwardly in the corner as Juliet and Gus pull up chairs beside his bed. 

Gus takes Shawn’s hand, squeezing it twice. Then his eyes flick over to Lassiter who mumbles something about getting coffee before stepping out of the room. 

Chapter Text

Lassiter lingers at the coffee dispenser longer than nessecary. In truth, he doesn’t want to go back into the room, but he also doesn’t want to leave the hospital. This limbo leaves him walking aimlessly down the halls, sipping his mediocre coffee.  

Nobody would bat an eye if he didn’t return. He could head back to the station and bury himself in paperwork and try to forget that anything happened that morning. However… something had changed. Shawn had all but admitted that he wasn’t really a psychic and yet Lassiter felt strangely conflicted on what to do with that information. Part of him wants to run directly to the Chief and tattle—a skill he’s excelled at since childhood. And yet something is stopping him. 

He hates feeling conflicted. 

“It’s just complicated.”

“Most things are.”

He drags his hand down his face, then attempts to massage the headache from his temple before starting back towards Shawn’s room. 

He finds the scene much like how he’d left it: Gus is talking to Shawn despite the other man still evading consciousness and Juliet is on the phone, updating the Chief on the situation. He cringes as he imagines the talking to he’s soon to receive from his superior. Juliet and Gus glance up at him as he re-enters, wearing matching expressions of mild surprise. 

He settles himself in a chair against the wall, crossing his arms. 

…

Three hours later, Shawn wakes. Lassiter notices the shift in his breathing and sits forward from his slumped position in the chair. 

Juliet had returned to the station and Gus begrudgingly left an hour ago to take care of some business for his respectable job, but had promised Shawn he would return soon. 

So it left only Carlton Lassiter in the room as Shawn woke up, blinking at the ceiling above him with dawning awareness. Tentatively Lassiter pulls his chair forward, waiting for Shawn to speak first.

“Lassie?” He asks, turning his attention to the only other person in the room. Lassiter nods, extending what he hopes is a comforting smile, though it may have turned into more of a grimace, “Total honestly, didn’t love that.”

“I’d be worried if you did.” Replies Lassiter, shifting awkwardly in his chair. Their conversation in Stephen’s safe had been rather vulnerable, aided by the circumstances. Now, within the sterile hospital room, he has no idea what to say. 

“Did you arrest Stephens?” Asks Shawn, his tone hopeful. 

“O’Hara apprehended him shortly before Guster found us.”

“Good old Gus!” Says Shawn brightly, “He found my note?”

“Yes, and you’re lucky he was able to decipher it.”

“Lassie.” Shawn deadpanned, “Gus and I have been friends our whole lives. He can practically read my mind, and I can read his. Though that is also because I’m psychic, of course.” He raises a hand to his temple before adding, “Right now he’s thinking about teddy bears, little cuddly teddy bears.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous.” Says Lassiter dryly, then adds, “And you can cut the psychic nonsense. You admitted yourself that it’s a sham.” 

“Mmm, doesn’t sound like me.” Denies Spencer, feigning innocence. 

“You can’t backpedal now! You told me yourself, in the vault.” 

“And I’d lost, like, all of my blood. Clearly I wasn’t thinking straight and was an unreliable source.”

“Spencer,  I—“ 

“Gus!” Shawn cuts Lassiter off when Gus walks in carrying none other than a fluffy teddy bear, presumably from the hospital gift shop. The head detective can’t help but gape at the sight. 

“How did you know he’d have that?” He asks Shawn, already knowing what the answer will be.

“I told you.” Shawn says, tapping at his forehead and then accepting the bear from Gus, “I can read minds.” 

Gus and Shawn start arguing about what the bear’s name should be when Lassiter senses somebody standing in the entryway of the door. He turns to see the elder Spencer, whose face is creased with an unreadable expression. 

“Good to see you’re not dead.” He says flatly.

“And the same to you.” Replies Shawn, “Old age is a silent killer.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Henry steps further into the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, “Gus told me you got yourself locked in a vault? How many times have I told you to not throw yourself into potentially dangerous situations!”

“I—“ starts Shawn before he’s cut off by Lassiter, 

“I called your son to aid me in investigating my suspicion regarding Mr. Stephens, and he was a valuable asset.”

“Well then you must be spending too much time with Shawn.” He turns his attention back to his son, “I expect better.”

“Mr. Spencer!” Lassiter raises his voice, standing up from his chair so aggressively that it screeches across the linoleum floor, “He could have died today. If I were you, I would show a little more compassion.” 

Henry is silent for a moment, his eyes darting between Lassiter and Shawn before finally he exhales and uncrosses his arms.

“Do you need anything? Are you hungry?” Henry doesn’t apologize or say I love you son, I’m so glad you’re safe, but this was as good as Shawn was going to get. Lassiter hasn’t stopped glaring at Henry nor has he sat back down. Gus and Shawn share a brief look before Shawn replies, 

“I could demolish some jello right now. But just the green kind pretty please.” 

Henry obliges, though likely just to escape Lassiter’s stare. Once he’s out the door, Gus and Shawn resume their conversation as if it was never interrupted.

“Mr. Snuffles is a perfectly respectable name.” Argues Gus, his expression serious as if this actually mattered.

“Why are there never any Mrs. bears. I call sexism.”

“Fine! Mrs. Snuffles.”

“No that’s stupid, Mr. Snuffles is better.”

“Shawn!” Gus scoffs, shaking his head disapprovingly. 

Lassiter watches them converse, still feeling royally ticked off by Henry’s behavior. He’s caught off guard when the two men turn to look at him and Shawn asks,

“What do you think it should be named?”

“I think it’s a stuffed animal and giving it a name is ridiculous.”

“Well then Mr. Snuffles it is.”

“Mr. Snuffles is a stupid name.” Says Lassiter flatly. Gus scoffs a second time, rolling his eyes. 

“That’s what I said! But that is the life he is destined for if you don’t give him a name.”

Lassiter stares intently at the bear for several seconds before finally saying,

“Barry.”

“Seriously. That’s the most obvious name you can give a bear.” Retorts Gus right as Shawn exclaims, 

“Perfect!” 

Eventually, Henry returns with the jello and Lassiter decides it’s finally time to take his leave. He lingers a moment at the doorway, watching the three talk. There is not a single person in his life who he is as close to as Shawn is to Gus, nor even as Shawn is to Henry. Ever since his divorce he’s convinced himself that he’s okay with it—that he enjoys being a lone wolf. 

But as he walks away he decides firmly that nothing needs to change. 

Chapter Text

Shawn is discharged the following day with strict instructions to stay home and rest until his body is able to fully recover. But if there’s one thing Gus knows about Shawn, it’s that staying home and resting is not his M.O. In fact, the man is hardly ever home at all. He spends all of his time at the Psych office, the police station, Henry’s house, Gus’s apartment, and running around Santa Barbara.

Which now that Gus thinks about it… He had noticed the toothbrush in the Psych bathroom, and that Shawn had seemed to “accidentally” fall asleep while working on a handful of occasions. So as Gus opens to passenger side door of the blueberry for Shawn to step into, he breaches the topic, 

“You heard what the doctor said. Should I drive you home?” 

Gus sits down and buckles his seatbelt as Shawn does the same. 

“That’s on the opposite side of town, don’t worry about it. You can just drop me off at the office. I’ve got a couch with my name written all over it and reruns of The Golden Girls to watch.”

“Wouldn’t you rather sleep in your own bed?”

“I don’t have a TV in my room Gus, and I simply can’t keep my golden gals waiting.”

Gus makes a decision, putting the car into drive and pulling out of the hospital parking lot as Shawn babbles about Rose and Dorothy. It’s only once they’ve been driving for ten minutes that Shawn realizes something is up. 

“I think you took a wrong turn buddy?”

“No Shawn, I did not.” He parks on the side of the street and turns to his best friend, making pointed eye contact, “You don’t have an apartment, do you?”

Shawn’s eyes go wide for a second, before he resigns to being caught and shrugs. 

“Cases were slow for a couple months and I fell behind on rent. Honestly, it hasn’t been half bad. Our office is right next to the beach, which we don’t take advantage of nearly enough. I’ve considered taking up surfing. I think I have the face for it.”

“You need an actual place to live, Shawn!” Chides Gus, “And for the record you don’t have the face for surfing.”

“Hey! Rude.” Pouts Shawn but is quickly sobered by Gus’s serious expression, “Okay, yeah. You’re right. I’ll start looking for a place soon.”

“Okay. Good.” Gus replies, satisfied, “And until then you’ll be staying with your dad.”

“What! No, no, no way Jose!” Argues Shawn.

“You can stay in your old room, and sleep on an actual bed. Trust me, your joints will be thanking you.”

“Gus.” He whines, dragging out the s.

As a response Gus turns on his blinkers and pulls away from the curb, driving the remaining five minutes to Henry’s place as Shawn gives him the silent treatment. He pulls into the driveway and watches as Shawn gets out with a wince of discomfort he attempts to hide. 

Shawn starts to walk towards the front door and seems slightly surprised to see Gus following after him.  

“Do you also not have an apartment?” He asks, and then cracks a grin, “Because if so I need to know where all that money of yours is going.”

“Your dad invited me to stay for dinner.” 

“You used to practically live here, remember?” Says Shawn fondly. Gus does remember. They would spend hours and hours in Shawn’s backyard doing stunts of various safety levels until Henry would come out and break it up. Then they’d retreat into Shawn’s bedroom and play with his action figures and tell scary stories until the play date became a sleepover. But instead of reminiscing he just smiles and knocks on the door. It opens and Henry gestures for them to come inside. Gus melts into the smell, his eyes lighting up. 

“Is that steak I smell?” He asks, his mouth already watering.

“And mashed potatoes.” Confirms Henry, wiping his hands on his half apron.

“Aw pops, if I didn’t know better I’d think you love us.” Shawn quips, heading straight for the dining table.

“What I love is steak, and Gus here is alright in my books too. Now go wash your hands.” 

Gus and Shawn dutifully comply, as if they were ten again and washing up after playing in the mud. When they return to the table, there are already two plates waiting for them. Henry doesn’t mess around when it comes to a hearty meal, and Gus wastes no time digging into his portion.

“I thought Lassiter was going to bite my head off back there.” Says Henry between bites, “I thought he hated your guts?”

“Nobody is immune to the Shawn Spencer charm.” Shawn replies before adding, 

“But he does. Maybe he just hates your guts more.”

Henry barks out a laugh and shakes his head muttering, yeah sure. There’s a beat of silence save for forks scraping plates before Gus says, 

“I tackled Stephens. I thought you were dead and I went full rage mode.” He smiles, feeling rather satisfied. 

“Oo full rage mode, wish I was there to see it. Did steam come out of your ears?“

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Very badass. And I assume upon my rescue you threw me over your shoulder like a damsel in distress?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.” Repeats Gus with a smirk. 

“Thanks buddy, for finding us. Bummed I had to miss it though.”

“You were unconscious?” Asks Henry, raising an eyebrow. When Gus had called Henry at the hospital he hadn’t been very detailed about Shawn’s condition because he was already dangerously close to crying. He had only explained the situation with Stephens, the walk in safe, and that Shawn had been injured. 

“Oh yeah, big time.” Shawn replies and shovels a spoonful of potatoes in his mouth. 

Henry frowns but doesn’t press further on the subject. Conversation wanders into the usual territories from there. Henry asks about Juliet and when Shawn is finally going to ask her out, and Shawn deflects as usual. Gus talks about how sales have been on the up recently, and Henry recounts a case of his that he’s already told them dozens of times. Surprisingly, Henry doesn’t get on Shawn’s case about the apartment. Perhaps that was his version of extending an olive branch. 

By the time the plates were cleared and everybody got up from the table, the sun had started its descent towards the horizon. Gus and Shawn made their way into the living room, turning on Golden Girls and settling into the familiar furniture. They’d only been watching for half an hour when Gus realized his friend had fallen asleep. So as quietly as he could manage he turned off the TV and left to put on his shoes. As he was tying them, he looked up to catch a glimpse of Henry draping a blanket over his sleeping son. 

Chapter Text

After a week of living with his father again, Shawn was fed up. Despite his injury keeping him mostly bound to his bed or the couch, Henry still put him to work. Whether that be organizing his tackle box or untangling old cords, there was always some menial task that needed to be done while Shawn wasn’t in the position to refuse. 

There was also the arguing. Shawn and Henry are more than capable of having civil conversations, but their true talents shine in verbal disputes. Usually Shawn would have the luxury of storming out and riding away on his motorcycle, but now the best he could do was slam his bedroom door, like a petulant child. 

Luckily, for both of their sakes, Shawn recovers without a hitch and as the days passed he required medication less and less until finally, after two weeks, he was ready to once again take Santa Barbara by storm… but maybe not do any jumping jacks. 

Shawn bursts through the doors to the precinct with the pent up energy of a ticking time bomb, and Gus has to lightly jog to keep up.

“Come on Lassie! Give me something good!” He shouts across the crowded room, causing all heads to turn his way. 

“Spencer?” Asks Lassiter who swivels in his chair and stands up, “You’re back.” 

The comment is not an explicitly positive one, though not negative either. The neutrality was new territory that almost caught Shawn off guard. 

“Back I am, and better than ever. I—“ he’s cut off by Juliet running across the room and enveloping him in a crushing hug, 

“You’re back!“ her tone held no ambiguity, and Shawn relished the hug before saying,

“Hey Jules! Gunshot, remember?” She pulls back from the hug, smiling apologetically.

“It’s been super weird not having you guys around.”

“The good news is my connection to the psychic realm has only been growing stronger in my absence, and speaking of which…” he squints at her, and then breaks out into a grin, “I’m sensing that you’ve had great success with a recent case?”

“Yes! A series of break ins. I was able to connect them to a murder that happened last week and we caught the guy before anyone else was hurt.”

“Too many murders in this city.” Gus mumbles right as Shawn congratulates Jules and then turns back to Lassiter. 

“So? What do you have for me? Make it something juicy please. ”

“I’m afraid Spencer, that due to our diligent police work, there is nothing juicy—“ he punctuates the word with air quotes, “—but as always someone will call you if you’re needed.”

“Oh come on Lassie, there’s got to be something.”

“He’s been living with his Dad for the past two weeks. He’s going a bit stir crazy.” Explains Gus, to which Juliet frowns. 

“Why aren’t you staying at your place?”

“Well it turns out not paying your landlord does not make him happy.” Says Shawn with a dismissive shrug, to which Juliet’s eyes light up and she smiles mischievously. She turns to Lassiter, adopting an inquisitive tone,

“That’s funny. Weren’t you just telling me the other day that your rent was bumped up?”

Lassiter shoots her a look before replying, 

“Yes, that may have been a topic of discussion.” Juliet nods, and then turns her attention back to Shawn. 

“And Shawn? You don’t currently have a place to live?”

“Yes, that may have been a topic of discussion.” Mimics Shawn, flashing a smile Lassiter’s way. 

“Well then it seems you two are both in luck.” She says clasping her hands together as Gus attempts to suppress a giggle at the implied proposition. 

“Hey now, slow down. I already roomed with Spencer for two hours in the safe and—“

“And think of the fun we had!” Quips Shawn, throwing an arm around Lassiter, “Please, I cannot spend another day with my dad. He’s already plotting new evil ways to torture me.”

Lassiter shrugs away from the touch but doesn’t immediately speak. The three stare at him with bated breaths until finally he relents, 

“Fine. But only temporarily. And not because I like you but because I could use the extra money.”

“Oh my god.” Gus whispers in utter disbelief, sharing a look with Juliet, who seemed equally as surprised that her suggestion was taken seriously. 

“You won't regret this!” Cries Shawn as he heads back out the precinct to collect his things from his dad’s house, not wasting any time. 

“I already do!” Yells back Lassiter. 

…

Shawn is under strict instruction to not do any heavy lifting at the risk of aggravating the wound in his side. And despite his cardboard boxes not containing anything more than clothes and miscellaneous objects, Gus is stuck carrying them from the blueberry and into Lassiter’s apartment. 

The first thing Shawn notices about the space is that it appears that nobody lives there. There are no decorations up on the wall. The furniture is nondescript and there is not even any clutter that would suggest human life. 

“Did you just move in?” Asks Shawn as Gus sets down the last of his things that had been residing in the Psych storage closet for the last two months. 

“No, why?” Replies Lassiter, who has been overseeing the move in from a distance, arms crossed. 

“This looks like a witness protection safe house.” Says Shawn, taking in more of his bland surroundings, “Is your name even Carlton Lassiter?”

“My home provides me with all the necessities. Anything further would be superficial and stupid.” 

“Well lucky for you, I have a Pretty in Pink Poster that would look great right there.” He forms a square with his fingers and gestures towards a blank white wall across the room. 

“I should remind you, Spencer, that this living situation is temporary. I don’t recommend getting too comfortable.”

Spencer walks over to the couch, flopping down and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. He can practically hear Lassiter seething behind him. 

“Get comfortable, heard!“ 

Gus looks nervously between the two men, clearly concerned they may rip each other's throats out if left alone. However, he has a tap class to get to and isn’t exactly keen to stick around and find out if his fears come to fruition. So, after a hasty goodbye, the front door is closing and Lassiter and Shawn are alone. 

“What channels do you have on this thing?” Asks Shawn, picking up the TV remote and boredly clicking through commercials and news stations.

“Shouldn’t you start unpacking?” asks Lassiter, whose attention remained placed on the four cardboard boxes piled by his front door. 

“I’ll get to it.” Dismisses Shawn before exclaiming in excitement and dropping the remote back onto the coffee table, “Oh Lassie you’ve got to watch this with me.”

Shawn pops an M&M into his mouth which he’d pulled from a bag in his pocket, and points at the TV with his unoccupied hand. 

“It’s great you’ll love it. This guy is a secret agent and a total master of disguise. Hardly anybody knows who he actually is, except for, and get this… his arch nemesis. But the tension is crazy and she always manages to track him down.”

Lassiter huffs in disinterest. 

“And the guy has like five guns.” Adds Shawn and seconds later he feels the couch shift next to him as Lassiter sits down. 

The show is hot garbage, but the kind of hot garbage that’s impossible to look away from. They watch together, occasionally talking to the screen as though the characters can hear them. The episode concludes and as the credits starts to roll Lassiter says,

“I would have disarmed Vanessa in a heartbeat.”

Shawn turns to face Lassiter and replies, 

“But Alejandro loves her despite the fact that they’re sworn enemies. So he can’t kill her.”

“Well then clearly he’s not fit for his job.” 

“So I’m assuming that means you don’t want to watch the next episode?” Asks Shawn, his attention flicking over to the TV which had started playing the impossibly catchy theme song. 

“Well— it’s already playing.” Replies Lassiter, settling back into the couch and staring intently at the screen. Shawn lets his gaze linger on Lassiter a moment longer, a smile playing on his lips before returning to the show. 

As the episode continues, a rather strange thing happens. Shawn cannot help himself but continue to sneak glances at Lassiter as the detective intensely watches the television and mutters complaints about the incompetence of the secret agent. There’s something magnetic about the way he is so passionate even when that passion is directed at something as benign as a stupid TV show. 

The episode comes to a close and Lassiter is fuming. He gets up from the couch, and starts to pace tightly back and forth as Shawn watches with amusement. 

“The man just needs to make up his mind! Does he want to be with Vanessa or not?”

“Welcome to the world a slow burn romance my dear Lassie. They don’t even kiss until season five.”

“Spoilers!” Cries Lassiter, ceasing his movement to glare at Shawn. 

“Sorry, sorry!” Shawn replies with a barely concealed laugh that turns into an unconcealed laugh, which bubbles into an absolute fit. 

Lassiter stares blankly at him until something cracks and a small chuckle slips from his lips, then another, until eventually the two men are nearly doubled over in a mutually contagious bout of laughter.

“The mime disguise was horrible !” Cries Shawn through hiccuping giggles. 

“Not nearly as bad as the chef.” Adds Lassiter as he wipes tears from his eyes. 

“We could do much better.” Says Shawn as solemnly as he can manage.

“Easily.” Agrees Lassiter and as their laughter dies down there is a moment where they just smile at each other before Lassiter returns to his senses and clears his throat. 

“Yes, well… you should unpack.”

“Yeah… I guess I should.” 

Shawn retrieves the remote, clicking the TV off and submerging the two into a silence so mundane he could have convinced himself that the previous exchange had been entirely in his imagination. 

Chapter Text

“Shawn, wake up!” Carlton shouts, abandoning any level of formality that came with the use of Shawn’s last name. He was beginning to feel desperate. What if Shawn was misremembering and never left a note disclosing their whereabouts? Or worse, what if that note is only discovered post mortem? Sure, Shawn is in the most immediate danger but if rescue does not come he will eventually die from either thirst or lack of oxygen. Though he’d prefer to bash his skull against a wall before it came to either of those options.

“Help!” He screamed again. If the safe was soundproof then he was well and truly doomed. He screams again, occasionally glancing back at Shawn’s unconscious form with the hope that all the racket he was making would be enough to snap him out of it. 

If Shawn dies, the last words he ever would have uttered would be ‘you win.’ The prospect made Carlton feel nauseous. The man cannot die like this. Not ashen faced and bleeding out next to another stolen life. It’s not befitting of someone like Spencer. If he is to die young, then he deserves for that death to be a spectacle. One people will talk about it for decades to come. Shawn always pushes his way into the center of attention, and yet here he is dying with nobody to bear witness but a man who has done nothing but attempt to ignore him since day one. 

He screams for help again, his voice growing raw from the exertion. In a moment of blind hope he feels movement from the man beside him and he quickly re-directs his flashlight, catching Shawn’s eyes flutter open and closed several times in indecision on whether or not to wake. 

“Shawn, please you need to stay with me.” Begs Lassiter, “That’s an order.”

But order or not, the man does not rouse any further. Carlton keeps his flashlight trained on Shawn, unable to look away out of fear of anything changing for the worse. 

Shawn’s words play through his mind again, ‘you win.’ Is this what winning looks like? 

Lassiter yells again, his words dissolving into the stuffy air. Then something shifts, something barely perceptible, and Lassiter’s heart starts to leap in his chest. His hand follows suit, dropping down towards Shawn’s neck. 

Shawn Spencer is dead. 

—

Lassiter wakes to a racing heart as his mind transitions out of the nightmare. Shawn is not dead. In fact, he’s just twelve steps away. Lassiter glances at his bedside table clock and notes that the red numbers read 2:00 a.m. before getting out of bed. He realizes what he’s about to do is objectively creepy. Especially considering Shawn is a grown man; however, that does not stop Lassiter from quietly walking into the hallway and slowly pushing open Shawn’s door. 

Lassiter’s apartment has two bedrooms, though up until now he had been the only occupant. The second bedroom was used as a collection space for his civil war memorabilia. It wasn’t particularly impressive, confined to two bookshelves filled with books, papers, figures, coins, and various other collector pieces. Those remained untouched, but now pushed into the corner of the room is a blow up mattress with Shawn Spencer asleep atop it. 

The gentle rise and fall of his chest aids Carlton’s heart to slow in tandem, and the stress of the nightmare dissipates. He stares at him just a second longer before gently closing the door once again and heading back to bed.

…

Lassiter wakes at 5:45 a.m. to the sound of his alarm clock beeping dully. He sits up, rubbing a hand down his face and groaning slightly. Dutifully, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, setting them down on the cold floor and walks towards the kitchen, his body heavy with sleep. He yawns as the coffee machine starts to whir, and he waits impatiently for it to provide him with the proper start to his morning. 

“Morning, sleepyhead!” 

He nearly jumps out of his skin as he spins around to see Shawn sitting on the couch, his neck craned around to shoot the detective a wide grin. 

“How are you already awake?” Asks Lassiter, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. He would have assumed Shawn was a late sleeper. 

“There’s only so much time in the day for naps Lassie. I need to get a head start.” Then he turns back around and unpauses the television which Lassiter had not previously noticed playing. 

“What on earth are you watching?” He squints at the screen, “Does that boy have a triangle shaped head?”

“Phineas and Ferb, and yes, yes he does.”

Carlton walks with his freshly brewed coffee over to the sofa, gingerly sitting down next to Shawn. They’ve only sat here together once, the night before, but somehow it already feels very familiar. 

“You know, you remind me of Candace.” Shawn says, gesturing towards the red-head currently dragging her mother to the backyard, “Her whole thing is that she’s determined to bust her brothers.”

“As she should! They’re in severe violation of building code and that’s not to mention health and safety concerns.”

“Actually they have all the right paperwork. And cute little kid sized hard hats. But I find your passion for busting commendable.”

Lassiter watches half of the following episode as he drinks the remainder of his coffee before abruptly standing up and leaving to get dressed. 

“Hey, where ya going?” Calls Shawn, disappointment evident in his voice.

“I’m getting ready for work.” Replies Lassiter through his bedroom door as he fastens his garter to a button up, “I’ll remind you I have a real job.”

“I also have a real job!” Yells back Shawn, “And it’s your lucky day because I’m getting some serious psychic signals that you’re going to need me today.” 

Lassiter does not reply as he pulls up his slacks, the garter allowing the shirt to tuck in perfectly. He does not reply as he combs his hair. And he does not reply as he carefully conceals two guns on his person.

It’s only once he walks briskly back into the hallway that he says in passing, 

“So, are you coming or not?”

—

Shawn and Spencer arrive at the precinct at 6:45 a.m. Juliet watches them arrive, raising an exquisite eyebrow. 

“I didn’t realize it was bring your roommate to work day?“ she says, barely concealing a grin. Lassiter clears his throat and distances himself from Shawn before replying, 

“He insisted on tagging along. And I told him he could under the condition that he’s not a distraction.”

“Extremely insistent.” Shawn confirms with a nod, “I begged, it was humiliating.”

Juliet rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anything further, which Lassiter is grateful for. He does not wish for his partner to think he’s gone soft. Especially in regards to Shawn, who he has spent the better part of four years publicly despising. Besides, there’s a fair chance that Shawn would have needed to come in regardless and driving together was practical, and environmentally conscious. 

“Lassiter, O’Hara—“ Chief Vick addresses them from the doorway to her office, pausing at the sight of Shawn. “Spencer? How did you…” her words trail off and Shawn jumps in, 

“Apologies Chief but I had a feeling I’d be needed today.” He raises a hand to his brow to clarify what kind of feeling he was referring to. 

“I can’t say I’m not impressed.” She replies, “You three, my office.”

Lassiter and Shawn exchange glances, as the former wonders not for the first time exactly how Shawn is able to get away with these kinds of things. 

Once the three are seated and the door is shut, Chief Vick sits down with a sigh and addresses them, 

“Yang has broken out.”

“What?” Asks Juliet quietly, her eyes wide.

“How is that even possible?” Demands Lassiter. Shawn is the only one of the three to remain silent. 

“It’s… unclear. All we know is that she was not in her cell this morning and her whereabouts are unknown. We’ve already contacted Lightly and he will be here shortly to consult on this case.” The chief glances down at her desk before letting her gaze fall on Shawn. 

“She only left one thing.” From a manila folder she pulls a photograph of a drawing. It’s done in crayon, and the quality is dodgy at best, but it very clearly depicts a girl holding hands with a boy with brown hair. A pink heart surrounds them. 

“We know she has a… fascination with you Spencer. And the SBPD will do everything in our power to ensure she isn’t allowed to get close.”

“I’ll kill her.” Mutters Lassiter, his face pulled into a tight scowl. Chief Vick levels him a disapproving look before turning her attention back to Shawn who still has not uttered a word. 

“Shawn?” Asks Juliet, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. Finally he breaks his silence, turning to Lassiter. 

“I should move out.” 

“What?” Replies Carlton, caught off guard by the declaration. That’s not what he’d been expecting in the slightest. 

“Yang targets people who are close to me. She will assume that since we are living together that—“ he hesitates then continues without finishing the previous sentence, “I barely even moved in so it won’t be hard to move back out. And the Psych couch is actually really comfortable, I don’t mind—“ 

This time Shawn is cut off by Lassiter. 

“Stop being ridiculous. I’m the head detective here and can handle myself. As for you, I can assure you that my apartment is safer than that shed you call an office. You will be staying with me, for as long as it takes.” 

“But—“

“I agree.” States the chief, sliding the picture back into its folder. Then she grins, “And congratulations on your new living arrangements gentlemen.” 

With that, she dismisses them on the grounds that they should report to her immediately if they find anything connected to Yang. 

“I should call my dad.” Says Shawn before ducking away. Lassiter watches him go, feeling the strange urge to follow. What if Shawn is blind sided and dragged away to some horrible fate? Then his sense returns to him as he remembers where they’re at. 

“It’s going to be okay, Carlton.” Says Juliet, putting a comforting hand on his upper arm. He jerks away and scoffs before rebutting, 

“I know. We caught her last time, we’ll catch her this time.”

“You just seemed worried.”

“Well I’m not.” He replies tightly, though he can’t help but look back at the direction Shawn left, “I’m not…”

Chapter Text

Shawn is panicking, which he hates. Crying, screaming, and panicking are all Gus’s job, and he’s very good at them so it would be a shame to put the poor guy out of work. However, Shawn can’t help himself. The last time Yang struck, his mom had nearly been blown to bits and an innocent woman died for the crime of serving him breakfast. 

Nobody is safe. Not Gus, not his father, not Jules, and not even Lassie. But he can’t show fear, because somehow Yang will sniff that out like a shark to a drop of blood. So it needs to be business as always, and for that he needs Gus by his side. 

He’d called his father like he’d said, informing him of the situation. Now he dials a number that he knows like the back of his hand, making his second call. 

“Shawn? You’re up early.” Gus sounds suspicious, which is not unreasonable. Shawn usually never calls. He prefers texts, with ungodly emoji usage.

“Hey buddy, so you’ll wanna get your little butt over to the station. Yang escaped.”

There’s something that sounds like choking on the other end before Gus cries, 

“What? Didn’t she get thrown in one of those white padded cells? You can’t dig your way out of one of those with a spoon, Shawn!”

“Hold up— I thought you hadn’t seen Shawshank Redemption?”

“I’m aware of pop culture Shawn.” Gus chides before quickly adding, “I’m on my way over, stay there!” 

“Staying.” Shawn confirms before hanging up and heading back into the belly of the precinct. 

“What did your dad say?” Asks Juliet, her eyes soft as they meet his. 

“He reminded me that he was a cop for over twenty years and is not, and I quote, a helpless old man. He and Gus will be coming around.”

“Very good.” Replies Lassiter, “We all need to stay vigilant. Our first clue could be anywhere. And Spencer?”

“Mm hm?”

“Refrain from flirting with any waitresses this time around.”

“Just waitresses? Everyone else still on the table?”

“Spencer.” Lassiter glares daggers at Shawn, and the man holds his hands up in surrender, 

“Heard, hot stuff.” He grins as Lassiter’s ears redden and he starts to sputter out a retort, “Just had to get one more in there before I go cold turkey.”

Lassiter is not given the opportunity to speak before a very out of breath man runs into the station, nearly bulldozing Shawn as he approaches the group. Lassiter’s hand instinctively jumps towards his gun before realizing who the man is. 

“Mary Lightly, long time no see!” Exclaims Shawn, extending a fist bump. However, Mary just stares at it for a second before grasping Shawn’s entire fist with his hand and shaking it. 

“Oo, that’s… clammy.” Says Shawn with a chuckle, squinting with bemused curiosity at the man. 

“It’s so good to see you again.” Says Mary before turning to Lassiter and Juliet and waving awkwardly without making direct eye contact with either, “And you as well detectives.”

“You made impressive time.” Comments Lassiter.

“Oh, I live here. Never left after last time.”

“Oh, oh that’s… so cool.” Says Shawn, making pointed eye contact with Lassiter, and jutting his head to the side. Lassiter purses his lips and tightly shakes his head

“I couldn’t bring myself to leave.” Mary says before digging into his satchel and pulling out a book. Yang The Whole Story: From Serial Dater to Serial Killer (How Murder Kept Me Skinny.) Shawn had read it— or well, skimmed it. Though he could tell from the forest of colorful sticky notes that Mary had poured over it as if it were a religious text. 

“I knew our story wasn’t over. She’s too brilliant to be caged. And I have a feeling, an itching feeling, that there’s another cog in this machine. A yin to her yang.”

“How delightfully ominous, thank you.” Says Shawn, “Would you excuse us for a minute?”

Mary flips open the book, nodding an affirmative. Shawn plasters on a smile as he slowly steps to the side with Juliet and Lassiter before pulling them into a huddle and whispering, 

“This guy is the mayor of creepy town.”

“For once, I agree with you.” Says Lassiter, and Shawn refrains from mentioning the other times that the man has agreed with him in the past. 

“I think we should give him a chance. He’s a little… strange, but nobody can say he’s not dedicated.” Argues Juliet. When neither of the others can find a rebuttal, they break from the huddle and attempt nonchalance as they walk back toward Mary, who is still intently reading the autobiography.

“So where would you suggest we start?” Asks Shawn. Mary looks up from the book, smiling softly. 

“This is the start of the glorious waiting game. In this game of chess we have no choice but to let Yang make the first move.”

“But we need to be the first to checkmate.” Replies Shawn, and after he’s met with silence adds, “Seriously? Nothing.”

“Guster has arrived.” Informs Lassiter who is looking over Shawn’s shoulder. He quirks a grin, “And he’s looking as calm and collected as ever.”

Shawn spins around to see Gus walking quickly towards them, his hands in his pockets and his eyes darting around as if he’s trying to scope out everybody around him. Shawn meets him in the middle, putting his hands on his shoulders.

“Take a breath buddy, everything’s okay.”

“ No Shawn, everything is not okay!” Gus responds, “I’m not looking for a sequel to last time!”

“As somebody who also rated the original two stars, I’m also not looking forward to part two. But we can’t freak out. If we freak out, it’s over.”

Gus nods tightly, taking a few steadying breaths before he frowns, 

“Two stars?”

“I’m not a snob, Gus. I can admit when a script is well written.”

“It felt a bit overdone to me.” Quips back Gus, and Shawn grins, shooting him a thumbs up to say without words, that’s the spirit! 

The two rejoin the cluster where Mary is currently rambling on about his favorite pages from the book. 

“Hate to break up book club, but do you think we can move this party elsewhere?” Shawn hates standing around, and is starting to feel rather antsy. He’s also starting to feel hungry, “I could go for some pie… cinnamon pie. Gus, I know you could go for some cinnamon pie right about now.“

“You know that’s right.” Agrees Gus.

“Then it’s settled. Gus and I will be going to that delightful little diner that serves the best pie in Santa Barbara—“

“The best.” Backs up Gus before Shawn continues,

“And if we see anything suspicious, you fine people will be the first to know.”

“I also like pie.” Replies Mary, which is not the response Shawn had been hoping for. 

“ Nobody is getting pie.” Barks Lassiter, causing several heads to turn their direction, “Yang could target anybody you interact with. Do you want the person serving your pie to wind up mangled in an alleyway somewhere?”

Gus and Shawn shake their heads guiltily, like two admonished children. 

“Spencer, we’re going home.”

We’re going home. Something about hearing Lassiter say that makes Shawn feel warm inside, though he can’t explain why. So he doesn’t complain as Lassiter grabs his arm and starts pulling him out of the station. 

“What should I do?” Asks Gus who trails just behind them. 

“Oh I don’t know Guster, you’re an adult you can make your own decisions, can’t you?”

“Well as an adult, I’m deciding to have a sleepover with Shawn.”

“What?” Lassiter asks, dropping Shawn’s arm. 

“I’m Shawn’s best friend. So I don’t exactly feel safe right now with a criminal on the loose who targets people Shawn cares about and also, oh yeah—“ Gus pauses for dramatic effect, “She said she wanted to skin me !” 

“I bet Mary has that quote highlighted.” Shawn mutters, glancing back over at the man who is talking with Juliet. 

“Fine.” Lassiter gives in, his lips drawn into a tight line, “But no pillow forts and braiding each other's hair.” 

Gus rubs a hand along his head and raises an eyebrow, but Lassiter just turns and walks briskly out the door. 

Chapter Text

“Do you have any nines?” Asks Shawn, phrasing the question as if life or death was contingent on Gus having the cards he needs. 

“Go. Fish.” Gus replies, watching with a smug grin as Shawn sighs and digs into the pile in front of them. They’re sitting on Shawn’s blow up mattress well into their fourth game of Go Fish, though the surface area is less than ideal as their weight shifts the bed back and forth. 

“Do you have any kings?” Asks Gus, and Shawn groans in response, throwing down three cards. 

“Man, I just drew one too!”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” Gus says with a grin as he places his matching four cards down. As he’s searching his deck to decide what to ask for next he pauses, sniffing the air. His eyebrows jump up his forehead and he sniffs again, getting up off the bed and causing all the cards to slide down into the middle. Experimentally Shawn sniffs too, and then he smells it. The distinctive scent of something sweet. 

Like cartoon characters floating towards the source of a smell, Gus and Shawn leave their game behind and make their way into the kitchen where they are stopped right in their tracks at the sight that greets them.

Carlton Lassiter is wearing a baby blue half apron tied tightly around his waist, and mixing something in a metal bowl. He nearly drops it as he notices his audience. 

“Baker!” Shawn yells, pointing at Lassiter as if he were condemning someone of being a witch in Salem. 

“No.” Lassiter sputters, his cheeks flushing pink. 

“Yes, you’re baking, you're a baker!” Shawn replies, feeling strangely giddy at the concept. 

“And is that?” Gus sniffs deeply before a dreamy sheen falls over his eyes, “Cinnamon?”

“That’s my super sniffer!” Shawn claps Gus on the shoulder before he puts two and two together and gasps, “Lassie… are you making us cinnamon pie?” 

Lassiter sets the bowl down, glancing around conspiratorially as if there was anybody else besides the three of them before confessing, 

“Okay, maybe I enjoy baking .” 

“And I have a feeling that I’m going to enjoy that you enjoy baking.” As Shawn speaks his eyes fall back down to the apron cinched around Lassiter’s waist. For a strange second, Shawn feels something akin to attraction burst in his chest. But that can’t be right… there must have been a crossed wire somewhere, a short circuit. He pushes the thought out of his mind and locks it away, dragging his eyes back up to Lassiter’s face. There’s a smudge of flour on his cheekbone. And, crap, now Shawn is thinking about his cheek bones. He’s completely lost his mind. Thankfully Shawn is pulled back into the moment at hand when the oven timer beeps. 

“Come to papa.” Lassiter says as he slips on an oven mitt. Heat swells into the kitchen as he opens the door and pulls the pie out, a heavenly aroma coming with it. 

“Shawn, you are never allowed to move out and also can I move in?” Gus says, staring longingly at the pie. 

“My mother taught me how to bake. It’s mathematical, and predictable.” Lassiter starts to pinch cinnamon sugar between his fingers from the metal bowl and gingerly sprinkle it over the pie. “And women love it.”

“And Shawn loves it too.” He searches the nearest drawer for a fork, feeling triumphant when he’s successful. Then, like a lion hunting a gazelle, he creeps towards the pie. The only thing that stops him from sampling a piece is Lassiter's arm creating a barrier in front of his chest. 

“It needs to cool.” He says as though that was not the worst thing he could possibly suggest at that moment. Shawn had only known about this pie’s existence for the past few minutes but it very much felt like he had been waiting ages. 

Somehow, Shawn manages to survive the wait and forty-five minutes later the three are sitting around the dining room table eating pie and laughing hard at things that aren’t funny enough to warrant it. The bottle of wine that has slowly been draining certainly helps. 

“And Gus tried to convince the girl that he’d just sat in some water, which she did not buy.”

“I had just sat in water!”

“Don’t be afraid to live your truth. You’re a pants pee-er.”

“That is not my truth Shawn!”

“But you’re telling me you got a second date after that Guster?” Asks Lassiter who has been smiling nearly non-stop for the past twenty minutes. 

“That I did.” Replies Gus smugly. 

Shawn takes a bite of pie, already working on his third slice and closes his eyes, sinking further down into his seat,

“Oh my god, Lassie I cannot believe you made this. This is bakery level good.” Then he straightens back up, an idea popping into his head, “You should totally come with me and Gus to the next cinnamon festival! You could enter something into a contest and win one of those fun blue ribbons!”

Shawn had expected a swift rejection, and a reminder that they are nothing more than colleagues (if even that.) But instead a deeply sincere expression paints Lassiter’s features and he replies, 

“Really? I mean— yeah, I’d like that.” He clears his throat, glancing down at his lap and adding, “A blue ribbon I mean.” 

Shawn wonders not for the first time if Lassiter has friends outside of the Santa Barbara Police Department. He wonders if he has people he goes bowling with and who cheer for him when he gets a spare. Or if he has a friend to call when he needs to vent after a hard day. Deep down, he knows the answer. 

“Do you guys know how to play Risk?” Asks Lassiter suddenly. 

“I hate—“ Shawn steps hard on Gus’s foot underneath the table.

“He hates people who don’t love Risk!” Shawn says enthusiastically. Lassiter’s eyes light up and he gets up from the table. 

“I’ll be right back, oh guys this is going to be so fun. I haven’t played in ages!” 

Shawn watches him leave until he’s out of earshot before whispering to Gus, 

“He clearly needs this.”

“Shawn, you know I hate Risk. I would rather enlist in the actual army.”

“Come on buddy, please. The guy’s letting you sleepover and made pie, the least you can do is play a little board game.”

“This is decidedly not a little board game… but fine.” 

They both plaster on smiles as Lassiter returns holding up the game and gesturing excitedly with it. 

The three are an hour into it when the doorbell rings. Lassiter is in the middle of his turn so Shawn volunteers to go and get it. He stands up, a little unsteady on his feet from the wine and heads to the door. He opens it, but there’s nobody there, and nothing is sitting on the front step either. He frowns, staring out into the night, holding his breath as he waits for something to appear. But nothing does. So he closes the door, locks it, and returns to the game.

However he can’t shake the feeling that somebody had been out there, watching him. 

Chapter Text

Shawn wakes slowly. The first thing he notices is the ghost of a headache that alludes to mild overindulgence the night before. The second thing he notices is that he is not where he had expected to wake up. In fact, he isn’t even in his bedroom at all. The third thing he notices is that his head is laying on something considerably more alive than a pillow. He jolts up, taking in the blank walls of Lassiter’s living room before turning to his right and seeing the man himself asleep on the couch. Interesting. 

It’s then that the events of the previous night come flooding back to him. They’d finished their game of Risk, Lassiter unsurprisingly beating them by miles. And then they’d turned on the TV, and upon realizing that Master of Disguise was airing, they simply had no choice but to watch. During which they must have fallen asleep, though Gus was nowhere to be seen. Anxiety clutches at Shawn’s chest at the prospect of something having happened to his friend during the night, and he gets up, heading towards his room. The anxiety dissolves as soon as it had arrived at the sight of Gus sleeping peacefully on the blow up mattress. 

Only after his senses have fully returned to him does Shawn realize it’s still dark out. The sun hasn’t risen, so he certainly shouldn’t have risen. A fresh wave of drowsiness pulls at him and he’s presented with a dilemma. Rejoining Lassiter on the couch feels off the table. Gus is starfished on Shawn’s bed, and Lassiter’s bed is not even in the running. He briefly considers his options before stepping further into his bedroom, sitting down on the blow up mattress, and pushing Gus until he has enough space to curl up next to him. Gus murmurs something but doesn’t wake up, and Shawn falls asleep to the gentle sound of his best friend’s breathing. 

—

Carlton wakes up alone. He’s woken up alone every day since his ex-wife moved out, but for some reason the empty space near him feels emptier this morning. His joints protest as he sits up, stretching. Lassiter recalls having watched TV with Shawn and Gus before drifting off, though he really isn’t one to fall asleep while watching television, especially not in his living room. That isn’t the proper place for such activities, especially considering his bedroom is mere steps away. 

Carlton stands, attempting to run a hand through his tousled hair before peeking into Shawn’s room. The two pains in his ass are sharing the blow up mattress like school children having a sleepover. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had a pillow fight. 

He lingers in the doorway, suddenly reminded of the last time he stood there the night prior. The nightmare had felt so real, and much of it was. He had screamed for help until his throat was raw, and he had feared for every second that Shawn was going to die with Carlton as his only witness. But Shawn had not died. Guster had saved him, both of them. 

He abandons the doorway, making his way into the kitchen where the game of Risk is still set up. Lassiter had won, though the competition wasn’t particularly fierce. Guster was stumbling through the entire operation, relying on Shawn for advice… which wasn’t wise. But regardless, Lassiter had enjoyed himself immensely. He’s rarely afforded opportunities to break into his board game collection, and he has too much pride to resort to solitaire. 

Lassiter methodically places the empty wine glasses in the dishwasher before carefully deconstructing the board and returning every piece to its rightful home. He enjoys tidying. It helps clear his mind, and lord knows his mind needs clearing. It’s been out of sorts for the past couple weeks. Something, somewhere had shifted, but he doesn’t know how to shift it back. So he tidies, and he lets his mind wander back towards the comfortable corners of his brain. 

That is until the very person he is trying to avoid thinking about walks in.

“Morning, Lassie!” Greets Shawn as he stifles a yawn. His hair is sticking out in every direction, and he’s still wearing his clothes from yesterday. Lassiter realizes at the same time that he is also still wearing his dress shirt and pants from work. Though the tie and blazer had been ditched at some point, thankfully. 

“Good morning.” Replies Carlton, busying himself with making a cup of coffee, 

“So what’s on the docket for today?” Asks Shawn as he starts to rummage through cabinets. 

“I will be going to the station as usual, and you and Guster will be staying put.”

Shawn pauses halfway to the table, a box of Mini Wheats in hand. 

“Staying put?”

“Yang has escaped. You’re safer here than running around.” He smirks, “And frankly so is the city of Santa Barbara.”

Shawn pours himself a hefty bowl, going to retrieve the milk next. He finishes assembling his breakfast before replying.

“I’m not going to put my life on hold because some nut job broke loose. And who knows, she may not even be after me. My dad always said—“ he puffs his chest out in imitation of his father, “Shawn, the world doesn’t revolve around you!”

“The drawing—“ starts Lassiter before he’s quickly cut off, 

“Is of a stick figure with brown hair. Take a look around. Every other guy has brown hair, that’s nothing special!” 

“Shawn, be reasonable. It’s reckless, and frankly idiotic, to pretend that she isn’t a real threat.”

Shawn takes a large bite of cereal, locking eyes with Lassiter as he chews before swallowing loudly and saying, 

“What would you do? In my shoes, what would you do?”

Lassiter is caught off guard by the question, and fumbles for an answer that won’t just give Shawn exactly what he wants. However, the hesitation is answer enough. 

“Precisely. Now give me five minutes and I’ll be ready to go.” His eyes flick towards the direction of the hallway, “And give Gus thirty minutes. He has a very strict morning routine.”

Lassiter doesn’t protest. 

—

Mary Lightly’s face brightens as he spots Shawn, Gus, and Lassiter enter the station. He hurries to meet them halfway, asking, 

“So, any news?”

“Yes.” Shawn says gravely, and both Lassiter and Gus shoot him worried stares, “The Queen is dead.” 

“What?” Asks Mary, his face twisting in confusion. Shawn lifts a hand to his temple before exhaling an oh,  

“My bad, that was just the future speaking to me psychically. So good news, long live the queen for another three, five, ten, or one-thousand years.”

“Long live the queen.” Agrees Gus solemnly, as if everything Shawn just said made a lick of sense. 

Mary and Lassiter do not laugh, looking both perplexed and exasperated respectively. Juliet joins them then, phone in hand. 

“I just got off the phone with the asylum. They’re off lock down, and we’re free to go down there and ask a few questions.” 

“Fantastic.” Mary says breathily as he hoists his messenger bag over his shoulder. 

“Unfortunately we’re limited on how many people we can bring at this time.” Juliet apologizes, implying that Mary would not make the cut. Lassiter smiles proudly, standing up a little straighter and holding up his police badge. 

“A badge can get you into almost anywhere.” 

Shawn reaches into his button up shirt, locating a string and pulling at it until his homemade badge is resting in full view on his chest.

“Then what are we waiting for?” He asks, grinning. Lassiter turns to Juliet who just shrugs. 

“He should come with us, Carlton. Shawn is more closely linked to this case than any of us. And maybe he’ll sense something.” 

Shawn nods enthusiastically, certain that there will be at least one bread crumb for him to follow. And if not, making a wild guess is never out of the picture.

“Fine, but Guster, you’ll stay here.” Relents Lassiter. 

“Shawn and I are a package deal, tell ‘em Shawn.” Gus protests, but Juliet quickly shuts him down, 

“I’m sorry but we’re limited to three visitors. We won’t be long.”

“Sorry buddy, rules are rules.” Says Shawn, as he tucks his arts and crafts badge back under his shirt and starts walking alongside Lassiter. Gus and Shawn exchange several more pointed words using just their expressions before Shawn finally turns around. 

“I call shotgun!” Exclaims Shawn as they approach Lassiter’s car. Juliet just laughs as she opens the passenger side door. 

“The day you become Lassiter’s partner is the day you get shotgun privileges. But for now, that’s me.” She sits down at the same time that Shawn begrudgingly opens the backseat door and does the same. He positions himself in the middle seat, leaning forward so his arms are propped up on both the front seat headrests. 

“So how do you guys think she broke out? I thought that place was like Fort Knox.”

“Isn’t it obvious? There’s likely a corrupt security guard, who she somehow managed to seduce and convince to sneak her out.” He pauses a beat before adding, “And elbows down.” 

Shawn falls back into his seat before replying, “I don’t know Lassie, I met her and charming is not in the top ten list of adjectives I’d use.” 

“I’m with Carlton on this one. These kinds of places are near impossible to break out of, especially in Yang’s cellblock. There has to be another player here.”

And I have a feeling there’s another cog in this machine, a yin to her yang. 

Mary’s foreboding message plays in his mind, and as much as he hates to admit it, it doesn’t sound too far-fetched. In fact, it’s more ridiculous to imagine that Yang is a solo player. The very imagery she works with symbolizes interdependence and balance… and middle school girl’s friendship necklaces. But that implies that there’s not one but two people out there who are plotting against him, which doesn’t exactly elicit great feelings. 

The car pulls into the asylum parking lot, and Lassiter turns around to face Shawn. 

“You will let us do the talking. If you—“ he exhales sharply, “— sense something, you will tell myself or O’Hara privately. Do you understand?”

“Copy, over.” Replies Shawn, feigning speaking into a walkie talkie. He makes a mental note to invest in a pair for him and Gus…with Gus’s money. 

They get out of the car, walking towards an official looking man with a handlebar mustache who is beckoning them in his direction. Once they get within arms reach, the man extends a hand which Lassiter immediately takes and shakes firmly. 

“Detectives, welcome. My name is Bill Wood, head of security. We apologize you weren’t able to come sooner, but our policy in situations like these is a 24 hour lock down.” He speaks with a thick southern accent that feels out of place in California. 

“We understand.” Replies Juliet, then adds, “I’m detective O’Hara, we spoke on the phone. This is my partner detective Lassiter and Shawn Spencer, our resident psychic.” Lassiter looks slightly ruffled at missing the opportunity to introduce himself. Shawn is sure he would have slipped ‘head detective’ next to his name, if given the chance. 

Bill’s eyes widen slightly, and he properly looks at Shawn for the first time, studying him. 

“Well I’ll be… the man himself. She went on and on about you.”

“Can you show us inside?“ asks Lassiter, irritation permeating his voice. Bill’s eyes snap back to the head detective as he nods. 

“Of course, follow me.” 

The three are led into a side door that reveals a long hallway. There’s something unsettling about the place, and it makes Shawn’s stomach feel tight but he presses onward. If Lassiter is right, and there’s a corrupt player inside the facility, then it could be anybody. Even the man they’re blindly following into the depths of an asylum. 

Finally they stop in front of a door that Bill hastily unlocks, opening it wide and revealing the impressive security camera set-up inside. 

“I don’t know how much you’ll be able to get from this, detectives, but take as much time as you need.” Bill pulls up the footage, stepping to the side to allow the other three to get a good look. 

Shawn watches with intent focus as Yang paces tight circles back and forth in her cell. At some point she freezes and pulls the drawing of him out from inside her shirt and lays it tenderly on the ground. She looks up, making direct eye contact with the camera and the next second there’s a glitch in the footage and she’s gone. 

“What the hell?” Mutters Lassiter, who is leaning over the desk, his eyes narrowed as he rewinds the video, “If somebody here tampered with this footage that is in direct interference with a police investigation.” 

Lassiter straightens to his full height, turning to Bill with a face that translates to don’t play games with me. Shawn thinks that face is totally badass… when it’s not directed towards him. 

“I’m sorry detective, but that’s how I found it! I’ve personally spoken with everybody who has clearance for this room and it just doesn’t make sense… My employees are good people. None of them would aid a criminal in an escape.”

Shawn watches as Juliet rewinds the tape again, desperately trying to grasp onto anything. He hates looking into Yang’s eyes. It almost feels as though she knows that he’s looking at her… 

Because she did. 

Sorry dad but sometimes the world does revolve around me , he thinks as he jumps into action. Shawn bolts from the room, flinging himself towards the hallway’s cement wall.

“What is it?” Asks Lassiter, sounding for once more curious than frustrated. 

“The walls, they’re pulling me. They’re trying to take me somewhere! Bill, where’s Yang’s cell?” 

Bill looks between the detectives for confirmation. They both nod, and he pulls out a ring of keys, thumbing through them until he gets to a shiny red one. 

“Why just down to the right, follow me.” 

They make quick work getting to the room which used to hold Yang. It has a glass pane showing them the minimalist interior. No… Lassiter’s apartment is minimalistic, this is bare bones. Only what is needed for survival, and nothing more, all coated a mind numbing shade of grey. Shawn supposes he’d lose a few marbles if he had to stay in there for any amount of time. 

“There’s a card scanner, but we’ve temporarily shut that down. The only way in now is with the keys on this key ring.” Explains Bill as he inserts the red key and twists, allowing the door to swing open. 

Shawn steps inside taking in the small space. There has to be something in here, a clue of some kind. Wordlessly, Lassiter and Juliet had started searching alongside him. They pull the sheets off the bed, examining every inch, repeating that process with the pillow. But that would have been too easy. No, she would have hidden her clue somewhere you wouldn’t expect. Then it dawns on him. 

“Water, I’m sensing water. Overflowing, something clogging it.” Says Shawn, and Lassiter hurriedly gets to his feet, rushing over to the sink and sticking his slender fingers into the drain. 

“I got something!” He exclaims, pulling out a tightly rolled and slightly damp piece of paper. He gingerly unrolls, before reconsidering and handing it to Shawn. Shawn just holds it for a moment, his heart beating a little too fast for comfort, before Lassiter says,

“Read it.”

Shawn reads through it quickly himself before sharing its contents aloud. The words are tightly scrawled but legible.

“Shawn, I’ve got a message just for you, read again page fifty-two.” He looks up at the three faces staring back at him, “We need to get back to the station.”

—

Mary flips open his copy of Yang’s book to page fifty-two then hands it to Shawn. 

“I’ve read this book three times over now, looking for any semblance of secret messaging. I’ve sticky noted potential passages but this page seems completely unassuming.” 

Shawn’s eyes list back and forth down and across the page, reminding him of how much he hates reading. He’s never managed to invest himself in a book. Words on a page have always been just that to him, words. But now he forces himself to concentrate, imagining Yang speaking directly to him. 

Steps to a successful date:

• Dress nicely. A suit and tie is preferred. I would suggest following funeral dress codes (dates and funerals are more similar than they are different.) If you simply cannot manage fitting attire, then I would prefer you wear nothing at all…

• Never arrive empty handed. (Recall the funeral note) Flowers are appropriate for both occasions. Blood red roses are a personal favorite. 

• Choose a classy location. If I need to define classy for you then I’m afraid you’re a lost cause. I often frequented Oakwood by Vine, but never had to pay the bill. 

• Smile, but don’t smile too much. Preferably just the right amount. Show your canines, but not your molars. Smiling too little can make you look like an unpleasant individual, and smiling too much can have a similar effect. This is enhanced if you chose the last option in step one. Remember, you don’t want to look like a murderer. Unless you are, in which case, honesty is a sexy quality. 

• Punctuality is key. If your date is at 6:30 p.m. then you are expected to arrive no later than 6:25 p.m. Punctuality is a virtue, and you don’t want to know what happens when it’s not heeded.

Shawn stops reading, the puzzle pieces fitting into place. He mumbles aloud as he thinks, “Suit, red rose, Oakwood by Vine, smile… 6:30.” 

“What is it?” Asks Lassiter who is growing more impatient by the second. Shawn glances up, dramatically dropping the book to the table. 

“Gus, cancel my appointments for this evening!”

“What appointments?” Asks Gus, not catching onto the bit. But Shawn continues, undeterred. 

“Because I have a date.”

“Let me guess, with destiny?” Asks Lassiter. 

“With Yang.” Corrects Shawn, before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

Chapter Text

6:25 p.m. 

Lassiter is dressed in a suit jacket, button up shirt, slacks, and a tie. In other words, he’s in his civvies. Nearly identical to his work attire, except for the fact that the jacket is plum, which is a color only chosen by a man off duty. Or at least that’s the image he’s trying to present as he surveys the restaurant. 

Shawn is dressed similarly to Lassiter, though his suit jacket is not as well fitted. It is just a size too large, like a teenage boy wearing his father’s clothes on a first date. The tie is immaculate though, with thanks to Lassiter who not only lent it to him but also tied it himself. Shawn was completely useless at it, nearly strangling himself in his attempt. 

Tucked inside Shawn’s front pocket is a red rose, blood red. Lassiter keeps an eye on that rose from across the crowded restaurant. He has an unobstructed view of Shawn’s table and watches as the man puts a hand to the side of his head. 

“Any sign of Yang yet?” His voice bleeds directly into Carlton’s ear. 

“No, and for the love of god you don't have to put your hand up like that. You’re trying to stay discreet.”

“Discreet is my middle name.” Replies Shawn, though he doesn’t move his hand this time around. 

“I thought it was danger .” Lassiter rolls his eyes, despite the fact that Shawn is too far away to notice. 

“A man can have two middle names, Lassie.” 

“Stay focused boys.” Juliet’s voice pipes into the conversation. She is stationed just outside the restaurant, ‘reading a book’ on a park bench, “It’s nearly 6:30. If she’s going to show it will be any second now.”

The seconds tick on in tense silence as they wait for Yang to show herself, but the seat across from Shawn remains empty. Lassiter is seconds away from calling off the operation when a woman tentatively approaches Shawn’s table. Her ginger hair is tied up in a high ponytail and her jogging apparel sticks out in the posh restaurant setting. She may not be Yang, but Lassiter hovers his hand over his gun regardless. 

“Hi, sorry. This is awkward, but is your name Shawn?” The woman’s voice is picked up from the microphone concealed in Shawn’s oversized jacket. 

“Guilty as charged.” Replies Shawn, raising his hands up in mock defeat. The girl holds up an envelope that had previously been at her side and says, 

“Your girlfriend gave this to me, outside. She said she got cold feet? I’m sorry, I hate to be the one to give you this. I promise I didn’t read it, but good luck I guess?” 

The girl looks like she’s about to leave but Shawn stops her, asking,

“How’d you know it was me? Did she say to look for the guy with great hair?”

“Oh, she said you’d be wearing a red rose.” Replies the girl, clearly uncomfortable before quickly taking her leave. 

She’d spoke to Yang outside. 

“O’Hara.” Carlton mutters, “She was in front of the restaurant and you let her get away?” The second part is louder and the couple at the table next to him turn his way. He forces a half smile before casting his attention back to Shawn who is currently turned around in his chair. They lock eyes and Shawn gestures towards himself. Lassiter tightly shakes his head as Juliet’s voice replies to him. 

“I swear Carlton, I didn’t look away for even a second! McNabb didn’t see anything either. But I have four officers out looking for her. I’m going to head back to the station, meet me there when you’re done.”

Yang will only be found when she wants to be. Despite everything Lassiter wants to believe about his police work prowess… he’s working on Yang’s timeline. A hot feeling of failure tickles the back of his neck. He hates not having control over a situation, and it feels like more and more often he is losing that control which is so precious to him. When he and Shawn were in the safe, there was nothing he could do but wait to be saved. He’d felt completely powerless, and very alone. 

As if he could sense Lassiter was thinking about him, Shawn sits down across from him before Lassiter even realized the man had left his table. 

“Wanna hear what it says?” Asks Shawn and Lassiter lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“What do you think, Spencer?” 

Shawn jams his finger into the corner of the envelope and drags it along the crease, the paper ripping unevenly as he goes. Lassiter grimaces at the display, recalling the cereal box that Shawn practically racooned open that morning. 

Shawn pulls from the envelope’s wreckage a pink card with a big shiny red heart on the front featuring the words, ‘happy one year anniversary!’ Lassiter watches with narrowed eyes as Shawn opens the card, preparing himself for whatever it has in store. 

“Hey Shawny-bear… I’m sorry I had to miss our date.” Reads Shawn aloud, “But you should know it’s not very romantic to bring your cop friends with you. It ruins the whole vibe. But I forgive you. And time apart only makes the heart grow fonder. I’ve waited a year, I can wait a little longer. I’ve got nothing but time…” Shawn trails off, his eyebrows pinching together, “But not everybody does. I hope the SBPD enjoyed chaperoning. Xoxo… Yang.” 

Lassiter’s heart starts to jackrabbit in his chest as he meets Shawn’s eyes. They need to get back to the station, now. Neither need to say it aloud before they’re jumping out of their chairs and rushing out the restaurant. 

Lassiter’s phone rings just as they pull out of their parking spot. It’s from Juliet and Shawn answers it casually despite both of them fearing the worst. 

“Hey, Jules!” He presses the speaker button and her tentative voice fills the silent car. 

“Yang struck… we were too late.”

Lassiter doesn’t have to be able to read minds to know why Shawn’s face pales a shade, visible in even the low light of the car. 

“Who?” Lassiter asks, taking over for Shawn. 

“Mary Lightly.” Informs Juliet quickly, “Just… just get back here as soon as you can.” 

Lassiter knows he shouldn’t feel relieved to hear the man’s name, but regardless both he and Shawn release a breath. Lassiter may not be overly fond of Guster or Mr. Spencer, but if Juliet had said either of their names… He doesn’t want to imagine how Shawn would have taken the news. 

They ride in silence for several long minutes before Shawn breaks it by asking,

“Do you think he ever took up racquetball?”

And despite everything, Lassiter laughs. It’s a quick thing, over as soon as it began. But it loosens the tightness in his chest just a notch. And he wonders, not for the first time, how does Shawn do it? How does he always have a joke to make, or a smile to give? Adding leveity to a room is never Lassiter’s top priority. It’s not even on the list of priorities. In fact, usually his priorities cause there to be less levity. 

“We need to try to stay a step ahead of Yang. We can’t keep trailing behind her.” Says Lassiter, not answering Shawn’s question. 

“My dad told me once—“ The phrase rolls off Shawn’s tongue like he’s said it a hundred times before, “—that if someone is chasing you you should never run in a straight line. You should get some distance and then change course. You need to zig zag.”

“And that’s exactly what Yang is doing.” Lassiter catches onto the point of Shawn’s anecdote, the gears in his brain turning with increasing speed. 

“And we’re the idiots who keep barreling straight forward. We need to figure out her pattern, and match it.” 

“You’re smarter than you look, Spencer.” Replies Lassiter, pressing harder against the gas until the station comes into view. He parks haphazardly at his reversed space and jumps out, Shawn right beside him. 

They walk side by side with nearly perfectly matched strides until a grim sight freezes them both in their tracks. Just in front of the steps of the station, surrounded by a wall of police officers and caution tape that blocks off the entire sidewalk… is Mary Lightly. His body is curved slightly, forming half of a circle, and the rest of the circle is painted with a deep red. 

The yin yang symbol was formed with his own blood. 

All of this right in front of the police station. Lassiter swears under his breath, and that feeling of failure starts to seep its way back into his bones. 

Zig zagging. 

But why kill Mary? He was involved in the investigation, sure. But it felt uncharacteristic to Yang’s usual M.O. This leads to another question. If it really was Yang who had handed the jogger the envelope back at the restaurant, she would have had to be in two places at once. Or… 

And I have a feeling there’s another cog in this machine, a yin to her yang. 

Lightly had been right. And the SBPD failed to protect him from his own theory. 

Failure, failure, failure. 

He locks eyes with Shawn and Lassiter can tell he’s thinking the same thing. Yang isn’t zig zagging. She has a partner, and they’re running in opposite directions. 

Chapter Text

“Oh hell no.” Gus is staring with saucer wide eyes at the interior of Mary Lightly’s home. The home he had bought after the first Yang case, and has been living in ever since. Though, ‘living in’ feels like too generous of a term. Surely a man can’t survive off sardines alone? At least no self respecting man. As he takes in more and more of the space, Gus can’t help but think that Mary would have benefited from some heavy duty pharmaceuticals. 

He’d been at the office, stuck in a very dull meeting with his superiors, when he received the frantic text message from Shawn. The message was in all caps and contained an unnecessary amount of exclamation points, and it had royally freaked him out. Gus had provided a hurried excuse that he didn’t stay long enough to hear the response to, before he was waking up the blueberry’s ignition and driving towards the address Shawn had given him.

Gus watches the white mouse, Ben, scurrying around in his cage. For some reason he can’t fathom, Ben is wearing a tiny sailor hat folded out of a dollar bill. For a brief second, he considers taking it for himself, because money is money but his train of thought is cut off by an exclamation from Lassiter. 

“What the hell is this?” 

He turns, following the source of the voice, and quickly realizes what had garnered such a response. In front of Lassiter is a standard wooden wardrobe, with one door swung open. If it had been closed, Gus would have never thought to open it. But looking inside, he realizes this is anything but a standard wardrobe. Plastering every inch of space are pictures of Shawn or evidence from the Yang case six months ago. 

This guy has some serious problems. 

“If he wasn’t dead, I’d think he was Yin.” Says Shawn in a voice barely above a whisper, and as Gus turns to look at him, he takes in his friend’s outfit for the first time. 

“Shawn… are you wearing a tie?” 

The question pulls Shawn’s eyes away from the creepy shrine and they flick down to his chest, as if he’d forgotten. 

“Oh yeah.” He replies before grinning, “Lassieface tied it for me!”

“You need to teach your friend some life skills, Guster.” Adds Lassiter, which Gus doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s been in an impossible battle with Shawn for their entire adult lives for the man to take more responsibility. But at some point he realized he was fighting a losing battle. 

Shawn steps back, analyzing more of the room. Gus wishes, not for the first time, that he could dive into his best friend’s mind and see things through his eyes. Shawn had tried to explain to him how he spots clues. 

“I don’t know, it’s just like… they’re illuminated. Like when you spot something in an ‘I Spy’ game, ya know?”

After that conversation Gus had bought an old I-Spy book and tried imagining he was Shawn, taking in a cluttered crime scene. But even with a list of things to look for, and everything inches from his face, he still couldn’t find the stupid horse. 

If Gus hadn't known Shawn all his life, he would have fallen for the psychic rouse hook line and sinker. Sometimes he still finds himself wondering if there’s something supernatural at play when Shawn seems to pluck the case solving clue out of thin air. 

“Dude, what’s with all the numbers?” Shawn asks, his neck craned upward. Gus’s eyes trail up towards the top of the wall, where written on the crown molding in thick black marker, are a seemingly endless string of numerals. He follows the numbers as they wrap around the room before finding the start. 3.1415…

“It’s Pi.”

“Gus, don’t be Topher Grace.” Replies Shawn absentmindedly, “Running on the beach at the end of ‘Good Company’.”

“The value of Pi, Shawn, as in mathematics.” Replies Gus indignantly. Now is not one of the times where he marvels at Shawn’s abilities, but instead where he marvels at his propensity for idiocracy.  

“Oh right… Lassie?” He calls out the detective’s name, not waiting for a response before asking, “Do we have any leftover pie in the fridge?” 

“I don’t know.” Comes the short reply, “Why are you thinking about food right now, a man’s been murdered.” Gus recalls a time he saw Lassiter eating a sandwich during an autopsy, but chooses not to bring it up out of self preservation. 

“I’m hungry! Usually when you go to a restaurant you eat. I read the menu, they had mac and cheese, Lassie. Mac and cheese! Can you even imagine how good a fancy restaurant mac and cheese would be?” 

“Now that you mention it… I could eat.” Replies Lassiter with a shrug. 

“And Gus here is a bottomless pit, so I know he could eat.” Says Shawn as he jabs Gus in his abdomen before his hand is slapped away. 

“Are we getting food?” Asks Juliet, joining the conversation. Gus wishes he weren’t hungry, because he’s seen some stomach twisting things in the past half hour. But regardless, his stomach growls as if on cue. 

“We should get sloppy joes.” Says Lassiter at just the same moment that Shawn says.

“I’m thinking jerk chicken.” 

There’s a beat of silence between the two men. 

“Sloppy joes.” Repeats Lassiter, over enunciating the words. 

“Jerk Chicken.” Shawn crosses his arms, and the two stare at each other, eyes narrowed. Gus half expects a tumbleweed to blow past. Juliet is the one to break the stand off.

“Guys I just got a text from the chief. She wants me back at the station.”

“I’ll drive.” Replies Lassiter immediately, as if forgetting all about dinner. Juliet bites her lip, casting her eyes down towards the ground before meeting Lassiter’s gaze again. 

“Yeah, sorry. She said you should take Shawn back home… and stay there.”

“What?” Asks Lassiter, clearly appalled by the idea. 

“Just for tonight. We want to get this situation contained. And Shawn is a technically a civilian, so protecting him should be a top priority. That’s the whole reason you had Shawn continue to stay with you, right?” 

Lassiter seems to ponder this for a moment before sighing, a sign that he’s relented. 

“And I’m also a civilian. Arguably even more of a civilian.” Gus says, stepping closer to Shawn. A man died tonight. A man he’d spoken to just hours prior. Any semblance of safety he’d manage to scrounge up the past day had dissolved the second he got Shawn’s text message. 

“Spencer, Guster, in my car.” 

“I call shotgun!” Cries Shawn before bolting out of the house.

“I drove myself!” Gus shouts back before following right behind him like he always does. 

—

There hadn’t been any leftover pie. However, Gus was pleasantly surprised to see that Lassiter’s skills in the kitchen did not end at baking. Both he and Shawn had forgotten all about jerk chicken as Lassiter served up homemade sloppy joes with a side of baked potatoes that look heavenly. 

As Gus eats he starts to realize that something is… different between Shawn and Lassiter. To a casual observer, their interactions would look identical to every other over the past few years, but Gus is not a casual observer. He’s Shawn’s best friend. And as such, he notices how Shawn keeps stealing glances at Lassiter when the other man isn’t looking, and stranger still, that Lassiter is doing the same thing. The two are sitting on opposite sides of the dining room table. And with Shawn in his suit and tie, it looks almost like… a date. Which is ridiculous, but not because they’re both men. Gus is proudly progressive, and has no problem with the idea of Shawn dating men, but Lassiter isn’t just any man. He’s, well… Lassiter. 

Gus quickly shakes the idea from his mind, refocusing his attention on his food as the conversation continues between the other two. 

“Do you ever wonder if there’s space crime?” Asks Shawn, a piece of meat dripping down his chin. 

“Believe it or not…” Lassiter hesitates as if he’s unsure if he wants to continue, “I used to want to be an astronaut.”

“Shut the front door!” Exclaims Shawn, grinning stupidly, “Did you have one of those little solar system models?”

“For your information, I did. While you were eating worms as a child, I was reading astro science textbooks.”

“Aliens?” Asks Gus conspiratorially. 

“Aliens are as real as psychics.” Replies Lassiter with a scoff before taking a bite of his sloppy joe. 

“ So , super real.” Says Shawn solemnly, as dedicated to the ruse as ever, “And now look at you. Feet on solid ground. If you were in space right now you could be eating this hands free.” Shawn lets go of the sandwich which falls with a soft splat on the plate. 

“But that’s firmly in the past. There’s too much real crime happening on Earth to waste time thinking about anything else.”

“But back to my original question. What about space crime?” Insists Shawn, and after a stern glare from Lassiter he clarifies, “Okay, not aliens! You’ve made your stance very clear, and I will make sure to tell them that when they inevitably invade. But Lassie, there’s other injustices in the great beyond! I mean, have you heard about what happened with Pluto?” 

Every single red alarm starts to blare in Gus’s mind. 

“Excuse us for a second.” Gus says with forced politeness as he forcefully grabs Shawn by the upper arm and practically drags him from the table and into Shawn’s room. He doesn’t say a word before closing the door and slowly turning to face his friend. 

“You must be out of your damn mind! You did not just use my pick up line!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You did. You have the hots for Lassiter!” He delivers the last line like an accusation, and frankly he’s as surprised that he’s saying it as much as Shawn appears to be. But behind Shawn’s affronted expression is something else… 

“Gus, what has gotten into you?” Shawn asks incredulously, “Do you need to lie down? I like Jules, remember ? Blonde, about ye high,” he gestures at eyebrow level, “Always wears pantsuits, hot as—“

“I remember Juliet!” Snaps Gus, “But which Santa Barbara detective have you been spending all your time with the past few days?”

Shawn scoffs a laugh, shaking his head as he stares at Gus. Gus doesn’t back down, and stares right back. 

“I vividly remember you saying—“ Shawn shifts his voice up an octave “Shawn, you can’t keep sleeping at the Psych office, you need to get a real apartment like a real adult!”

“First of all, I don’t sound like that. And two people who are just roommates don’t usually make googly eyes at each other.”

“Googly eyes? What, are you 12?”

“Am I wrong?“ Gus crosses his arms and waits. He waits as Shawn huffs out a laugh. He waits as Shawn breaks away from his stare and starts to pace back and forth in the small room. And waits as Shawn pulls loosely at his hair and drums his fingers along his shoulder. Until finally…

“Oh my god, you’re right.” Shawn’s pacing comes to a sudden halt, “Dude, I’m totally freaking out right now.” He flaps his hands in front of his chest, his breathing picking up. Gus grabs him firmly by the shoulders, before swiftly slapping him across the face. 

“Ouchie!” Cries Shawn, throwing a hand over his left cheek. He takes a deep breath then adds. “Thank you, that was absolutely necessary.”

“Anytime. Now let’s work this through logically. This is Lassiter we’re talking about, remember? The scarecrow? Lanky Mr. Bean? Detective Dipstick?” 

“I know, I know. And those are all such good names by the way, please remind me to come up with more.” Shawn says before sitting heavily down on his bed, his right knee bouncing, “It’s just… We had a conversation in the murderer’s creepy basement safe, and something was different about him.”

“You were losing blood.” 

“I told him I wasn’t psychic.”

“You what?” Hisses Gus, glancing back at the door with the creeping fear that it will burst open at any second.

“Well, I didn’t exactly tell him. But I didn’t… deny it.”

“Do you know how that information getting out could impact me? What we’re doing is technically a felony! We could be arrested!”

“But he hasn’t told anyone.” Shawn clarifies, as if that precludes Lassiter from telling someone in the future. He could very well be waiting to drop that bomb until it can wreck the most possible damage. 

But frankly Gus has bigger things to worry about than the possibility of criminal prosecution, because Shawn has a crush on Carlton Lassiter, and Gus knows it. 

“I don’t know what kind of bond you two made that day, but shake it off! You and I have nearly died together a hundred times and you’re not making googly eyes at me.”

“Again with the googly eyes man? You've never said that before today.”  

“Be serious for just one minute, Shawn!” Begs Gus despite knowing that asking that of his friend is like asking an elephant to be a mouse. “You like Juliet. You’ve liked Juliet for years. So whatever is going on with you, you need to snap out of it!”

“You’re right. You’re always right, except for when I’m right and you’re wrong which is often.” Shawn sighs, and flops backwards onto the blow up mattress. There’s a beat of silence before he adds in a strangely hopeful voice, “Do you think he…?”

“Shawn.” Gus says sternly, before softening slightly and sitting down beside his friend. The air mattress dips nearly to the ground from their combined weight. “You know there’s no way that could ever work out. Right?”

“Right. It was just a blip. A brief cross over with an alternate dimension.” He raises his hands into the air as he speaks, their paths crossing before falling back to his chest. 

“Exactly, so alternate dimension Shawn can figure all that out for himself.”

“I bet alternate dimension Shawn has a bionic arm.” Muses Shawn, closing his eyes. 

“Sure buddy. I’m sure he does.” 

Chapter Text

Lassiter sits up in bed, breathing heavily and slowly adjusting to the fact that he’s in his bedroom and not a murderer’s basement. This is the fourth time he’s had the same dream, though with slight variations each round. Tonight, instead of the wife’s decomposed body sharing the small space with them, it was Mary Lightly, inexplicably in all white athletic wear. Though it always ends the same, with Shawn dying and Lassiter waking up with guilt lingering in his stomach alongside another emotion that he cannot place. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, laying back down and trying to force sleep to come. But in the dark and suffocating silence, all the thoughts he’d rather not focus on lumber towards the front of his mind. He thinks about his failures, both of the fresh and old variety. He thinks about the time he spent in the safe, and the raw fear that came with it. But mostly he thinks about Shawn. 

He doesn’t want to think about Shawn. 

Five minutes later Carlton is sitting in his living room with a cup of coffee and the TV turned onto the first channel that came up. The volume is off and he’s not really watching it, but it’s just enough stimuli to build a wall strong enough to block out anything he wants to block out. 

That is until one of those very things walks into the room. 

“Bathroom’s the other way.” Mutters Lassiter, keeping his eyes trained on the TV. It’s playing an episode of Antique Roadshow, which is only mildly interesting. Though Lassiter finds it utterly ridiculous that a vase would be worth anything substantial. Now a land mine, that would be a different story. 

“That’s a fake.” Shawn replies, ignoring Lassiter’s comment and instead gesturing towards the TV, “On the inside lip, it has a logo she’s badly painted over. Mass produced.” 

“Geez Spencer, you’re ten feet from the TV, how could you see that?” Lassiter leans forward and squints, noticing the patch of color that doesn’t quite match. 

“I have one hundred-twenty vision.” Shawn replies in a deadpan so convincing that Lassiter isn’t sure if the man is joking or not. 

“That’s not possible.”

“Eye doctors call me a marvel of mankind.” 

“Something like that.” Mutters Lassiter, kicking himself for not noticing that the vase was a fake before Shawn did. Though he supposes he should be used to that by now. Shawn is always a step ahead of him.

“You can’t sleep?” Asks Shawn. Lassiter’s nightmare flashes in his mind’s eye. 

“I like to get an early start.” 

“Three in the morning? How many worms are you trying to get, early bird?” questions Shawn, and Lassiter can hear the expression the man must be making. 

“And why exactly are you awake?”

“The night terrors.” Replies Shawn casually, and Carlton is momentarily taken aback, searching for how to reply before Shawn clarifies, “The air mattress. It's on its last dying breaths. But Gus can sleep under any conditions.” 

“Oh, I see.”

“Can I sit here?” 

“It’s a free country.”

The couch shifts as Shawn sits down on the opposite end and for a few minutes they both sit in silence, watching the TV screen. Part of Carlton wants to return to his room and attempt to sleep again, but the other part is content staying exactly where he is. He has some questions to ask, a long overdue interrogation. However, for Spencer’s sake, he’ll start light, 

“That was quite the show at dinner. Did nobody ever teach you table manners?” 

“Sure I was, same day they taught me how to walk with books on my head and sip tea.” Shawn replies in a frankly offensive British accent.  

Shawn is armed with an arsenal of one-liners and sarcastic remarks, this much Lassiter has learned in the years he’s known the man. He needs to cut to the chase and ask the question that has been simmering for weeks now, or Shawn will just keep deflecting. 

“How do you do it?” For a moment the question lingers between them. 

“How do I do what? How am I this sexy? It’s all in the hair. And now that we’re roommates, I’m happy to share my—“

“You know what I mean.” Lassiter cuts off the man’s rambling, and Shawn doesn’t argue. Instead he just sighs and reaches for the TV remote and for a reason Carlton doesn’t fully understand, switches off the screen. They’re immediately plunged into a darkness that feels oddly familiar. 

“So hypothetically… if I weren’t a psychic, then I would probably use acute observation skills and a photographic memory to just see what I need to see and figure out what I need to figure out.”

“But how do you do it?”

“I just answered that, Lassifrass. Hypothetically if I wasn’t a super cool crime fighting psychic, I would just be a guy who is really good at noticing things and solving puzzles.”

“Bullshit.”

“Lassie.” Shawn chides, “That language wouldn’t fly on basic cable.”

“I’m good at noticing things and solving puzzles. You’re… you— there is something else happening here.” He gestures vaugely with the hand not holding his coffee. 

“I’m a psychic?”

“Try again.” Carlton searches for what he’s trying to say, “Imagine you’re at a crime scene. Explain your process.”

“Have you ever done a search and find?”

“…yes.”

“It’s like that. I just look around and see what jumps out to me until I find what I need to. I don’t even need to do that much leg work. The clues are just, like, revealed to me… hypothetically.” 

“I said to cut the bullshit.”

“And I did. That’s the nitty gritty, the meat and potatoes, the TMZ expose.” 

“You just said the clues are revealed to you. And you expect me to buy that? Let me guess, do they glow too?”

“Right on the money.” 

“Oh shut up Spencer.”

“Okay.”

“Great.”

Another stretch of silence radiates between them and Lassiter let’s his mind wander to all the times he’s seen Shawn do something frustratingly unexplainable.

“How did you know Guster was thinking about teddy bears? At the hospital. You said he’s thinking about ‘cuddly teddy bears’ and then he walked in carrying one. How did you know?” 

“We’ve been friends since we were in diapers. It doesn’t take any psychic abilities to tune into his frequency. Don’t you know anybody like that?”

“No.”

Shawn spares Lassiter’s feelings by changing the subject, “It’s fuzzy, but I can usually tune into part of your frequency too, and I have a feeling you’re not just getting an early start to your day.” 

Carlton can’t help but feel defensive. His first instinct is to deny what allegation Shawn is trying to conjure up, but instead he surprises himself by replying, 

“And the air mattress isn’t the only reason you’re interrupting my alone time.”

“Would you look at that, you’re listening to Shawn FM.” Shawn starts to hum a pop tune that Lassiter only vaguely recognizes and he takes it as his signal to switch back on the TV. 

“But because this piece is actually a fake, I fear our original estimate is highly inflated.”

“Bingo bango.” Whispers Shawn. Lassiter ignores the pang of fondness in his chest and closes his eyes.