The Ghost and Mr. Guster spn/psych ch 1
Title: The Ghost and Mr. Guster chapter 1
Author: Noturbaby
Fandoms: Supernatural/Psych
Rating: PG13 (language)
Warnings: none - no slash
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Gus believes in ghosts. Shawn doesn’t. -- Shawn sighed. There seemed to be no convincing Gus of the non-existence of ghosts. “Okay, Egon, let’s say there is a ghost. Since when do ghosts kill people?”
Note: Set mostly in the Psych universe. Season 1 Psych Season 2 Supernatural The Winchesters are still hunting the Yellow Eyed Demon. Shawn Spencer is still trying to prove himself.
1989--- Santa Barbara, California 3:17am
In the kitchen of the Spencer household, a very tired Henry Spencer sat with two very anxious twelve year olds. Though Shawn was beginning to show signs of sleepiness, Burton Guster was wide awake. His wide eyes darted to every noise he heard, imagined or real.
Henry may have been tired, but that didn’t stop him from being annoyed. He didn’t mind sleepovers. Heck, he even thought the Guster kid was a good influence on Shawn. What annoyed him was the negative effect Shawn seemed to be having on Gus. Henry doubted that Gus would have stayed up past the established curfew, let alone watched Poltergeist if Shawn hadn’t been behind it. Now that the local channel had stopped broadcasting and was only showing static, the boys were terrified. Well, at least Gus was.
“I don’t know how many times or how many different ways I can tell you, but there’s no such things as ghosts,” Henry said emphatically.
The boys nodded. Shawn looked squarely at his father. “What about killer clown dolls?”
Henry was stumped. “What?”
“Killer clown dolls,” Shawn repeated while Gus nodded enthusiastically. “Anyone in their right mind would be afraid of those things.”
“Don’t forget the killer trees,” Gus added.
Henry closed his eyes and sighed.
1989--- Housatonic, Massachusetts Earlier that same night……
John Winchester pulled his Impala into its spot in front of his rented room at the Mayflower Hotel. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror. His eye was beginning to blacken, his lip was split and swollen. “Damn poltergeist,” he muttered, knowing Sammy was going to worry about what had happened when he saw him in the morning.
Sighing, John made his way into his room and was surprised to see his boys were still awake. “Daddy!” Sammy yelled as he nearly tackled John in a hug, but not before John had noticed the tears streaming down his face.
“What’s wrong, Sammy?” John looked at his other son for an answer.
Dean looked exhausted. He rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the bed. “Sorry, Dad,” he began. “You know how Donna promised to take us to the festival, tonight?”
John nodded as he picked his youngest up and carried him to the bed. “What happened? Did she cancel?”
“No, we went. But, the festival was crawling with clowns,” Dean replied with a sigh.
John shook his head. Ghosts, demons, those he could understand terrifying someone, but clowns?! Gimme a break, he thought to himself. “Sammy,” he said, mustering a smile though it hurt his lip, “I promise no clown is going to get you now that I’m around.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” Sammy yawned and allowed his father to tuck him into bed. Dean rolled his eyes again and shook his head. He had spent the last several hours saying the same thing. Not that it mattered, obviously.
2006 Santa Barbara, California
Shawn Spencer was bouncing on the balls of his feet while he waited for Burton (Gus) Guster. In fact, he was so anxious to see his best friend, that Gus wasn’t allowed to enter their beach bungalow office. Instead, Shawn accosted him on the sidewalk. “Gus, Gus, my man. We’ve got to get going. Come on,” he said, grabbing Gus by the arm and turning him around.
“Shawn,” Gus began.
“No time for delays, Gus. The Women’s Auxiliary of the Santa Barbara Founding Families waits for no man,” Shawn interrupted. “Not even for men as awesome as us.”
“Shawn, why do I have to be there for your speech? I have a real job, remember?” Gus demanded, asserting his attitude.
“Yes, I am well aware of your other pursuits, Gus, but, this is the Women’s Auxiliary. Gus, women.”
“You do realize that although some of these women may be single, not a single one of them is under the age of 65, Shawn?” Gus took his turn at interrupting.
Shawn looked insulted for a second. “Yes, Gus, but do you realize that these women bake?” Gus raised his brows with interest. “And that they baked a pineapple upside down cake just for us, in addition to our monetary compensation?”
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Gus asked with a jaunty tilt of his head.
Upon arrival at the Women’s Auxiliary of the Santa Barbara Founding Families’ newly acquired, newly refurbished mission style mansion, Gus and Shawn were surprised to find the Santa Barbara Police Department had decided to send a contingent to Shawn’s speech. Detectives Lassiter and O’Hara and even Police Chief Vick were there with a couple of uniforms.
The moment Detective Juliet O’Hara saw Shawn and Gus, she approached them. “Wow, Shawn, the psychic vibe is really working today. We haven’t even had a chance to call yet.”
Gus was about to inform her that Shawn had been scheduled to address the ladies luncheon today when Shawn spoke up, “Yes, Jules, the spirits are speaking loudly today, telling us we are needed here.”
Detective Lassiter finally became aware that his partner had left him to speak with Shawn Spencer, and rolled his eyes in annoyance. “O’Hara, if you don’t mind, we have actual police work to do!”
However, Mrs. DuMont, the head of the Women’s Auxiliary, noticed Shawn had arrived and rushed over. “Mr. Spencer, Mr. Spencer! Oh, thank heavens you’re here!” Mrs. DuMont called from where she stood with Chief Vick. Shawn noticed the woman was flushed and looked close to tears. “Please, come right this way.” She took Shawn by his arm. In turn, Shawn grabbed Gus’s arm.
They were about to be led into the building when Detective Lassiter spoke up. “Mrs. DuMont, you should really leave this in the hands of the professionals of the Santa Barbara Police Department.”
“Oh, but I am, Detective Lassiter. Shawn Spencer is a professional with the Santa Barbara Police,” Mrs. DuMont declared. “Mr. Spencer is the only member of your department capable of getting to the bottom of this horrendous crime.”
Shawn smirked at Lassiter before smiling graciously at Mrs. DuMont. With a slight bow of his head he said, “Thank you, Mrs. DuMont, for recognizing true talent even when it comes in unconventional packaging.” He took the woman’s arm. “Please lead the way.”
Escorted by Detectives Lassiter and O’Hara, and Chief Vick, Mrs. DuMont led Shawn and Gus into the Historical Society’s newly renovated manse. The once immaculate setting had been completely destroyed. Display cases were shattered, their contents strewn across the room. Shawn scanned the area as quickly as possible, eyes finally settling on the most disturbing sight in the room. A body, dressed in black lay at the far end. Examining the figure from his vantage point wasn’t easy. But Shawn had already gleaned some valuable information.
Touching his middle finger to his temple, he began to mumble. Mrs. DuMont’s eyes widened. “Mr. Spencer, what is it?” Chief Vick asked, thinly veiling her annoyance at his presence. “Do your senses pick up on something?”
His voice a harsh whisper, Shawn answered, “Death, so much death.”
“Yes!” Mrs. DuMont’s enthusiasm for Shawn had her speaking in a near shout. “Oh, Mr. Spencer, someone did die, right over there!” She pointed to the body on the far side of the room. She moved to face Shawn. “What else do you see, Mr. Spencer? Is their spirit still here? Can they tell you why they did this to our beautiful museum? Can they tell you what happened to them?”
Shawn pretended to swoon, forcing Gus to catch him. “Mrs. DuMont, the spirits are angry, so very angry.”
Lassiter rolled his eyes. “That’s enough, Spencer. Let’s let the CSI crew get what they need in here before you go all phony baloney on us and contaminate my crime scene.”
“Lassie, I believe I have already established a-”
“Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster,” Chief Vick interrupted Shawn before he could irritate Lassiter much more, “I believe we will require your services, but for now you will have to step outside. Detective Lassiter is right, the CSI guys need to get in here.”
Shawn took Mrs. DuMont’s hand, “Please rest assured, Mrs. DuMont, my partner and I will get to the bottom of this and see that all of your stolen items are returned and that the perpetrator of this terrible crime is brought to justice.”
“Oh, Mr. Spencer, the Women’s Auxiliary and I can’t thank you enough for your help,” Mrs. DuMont gushed.
“O’Hara, get them out of here,” the chief ordered.
As they left, Juliet’s face wrinkled in thought. “Shawn, how did you know something was missing? Mrs. DuMont hasn’t even had time to do an inventory, yet.”
“Jules,” Shawn tried not to sound condescending, “my mind works in mysterious ways.”
Early the next morning, Dean Winchester was enjoying the view that the Santa Barbara Oceanside Hotel offered with their open air café: plenty of women jogging along the Oceanside path. When two exceptionally beautiful women jogged by and smiled at him, Dean looked over to his brother to see if he had noticed. However, Sam Winchester had his nose buried in the morning’s paper. Dean shook his head. “Sammy, you wouldn’t know a good time if it kicked sand in your Wheaties.”
“Huh?” Sam looked up from the paper.
“Never mind,” Dean huffed, leaning back in his chair. “What’s so interesting in that paper that you can’t enjoy the scenery, Sammy?”
Sam glared at his brother in irritation before he handed over the paper and pointed at a headline on the bottom of the page. “The historical society was robbed.”
“And?” Dean scanned the article, but waited for his brother to fill in the pertinent details.
“And, Mrs. DuMont, the head of the society, claims the place is haunted and she’s made sure the Santa Barbara Police hired their psychic.”
Dean put the paper aside to take a pull from his coffee. He squinted at the sun reflecting off the ocean before he spoke. “The haunting is probably a gimmick to bring in tourists and the psychic is probably a charlatan.” Sam was about to interrupt, but Dean continued, “However, if you think this is something we should check out, I’m all for staying in Santa Barbara for a couple extra days.” Dean subtly turned to watch another girl jog by.
Sam pursed his lips in annoyance. “Dean, yeah, I think it may be a chance to meet this psychic. Shawn Spencer may be another kid that fell off the radar….”
Dean folded up the paper. “If you think there’s a chance this guy is one of Yellow Eyes’ special kids, then I guess we’ll check him out.”
Mrs. DuMont handed the young man a cup of coffee. “Agent Watts, it was awful, simply awful.”
“I understand how troubling these things can be,” Dean said as he attempted to console her. “My partner, Agent Watts, and I can assure you that we will do everything in our power to bring these people to justice.”
Mrs. DuMont gasped. “That is almost exactly what the psychic, Shawn Spencer said. Have you spoken with him?”
“Not yet,” Sam spoke up, “but we plan to.”
Mrs. DuMont nodded. “He knew someone had been murdered the moment he entered the room and he also knew items were stolen before I even had a chance to examine our display cases.” The agents exchanged looks.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened from the beginning, while my partner takes a look around.” Dean smiled graciously at the elderly woman.
“Well, Mr. Spencer was supposed to give a talk to our luncheon group, but when I arrived, I found the back door had been forced open.” She paused, her eyes widening dramatically. “When I got the nerve to enter, I found everything a shambles and our new display cases, dedicated to Jack Powers, destroyed.”
“Jack Powers?” Dean asked.
“Yes, he was a notorious gangster in the early history of Santa Barbara,” Mrs. DuMont informed him. “In fact, the necklace, involved in the death of his mistress, was one of the missing items.”
Dean and Sam exchanged looks from across the room. “What else was missing?” Sam asked.
“Well, Agent Wyman, I gave the list I typed to the police, but, I do remember most of it,” the woman smiled slightly as she struggled to rise from her chair.
“Ma’am, please.” Dean held out his arm for her, which she accepted with a gracious smile. “We appreciate your efforts, but whatever you can remember is fine. You don’t have to retype it.”
Mrs. DuMont patted Dean’s hand. “Dear, I’m just going to hit the print button. It should just take a minute.” Sam hid his small smirk. “But, the few things I remember off the top of my head are the necklace and Jack Powers’ gun.”
Shawn and Gus waited in the hall outside the coroner’s office. They had tried to speak with Woody while he worked, but Gus came near to fainting too many times and had to leave. Gus leaned against the wall, his color returning from the green it had become when faced with the corpse.
“Juliet!” Shawn’s greeting was jubilant considering the surroundings, “What did Woody learn from our dead girl?”
“Nothing we didn’t already know,” she began. “Cause of death: strangulation,” she looked at him, “no murder weapon determined. Our vic was Loni Taylor. She had a record, mostly theft.”
Shawn looked over at Gus, then touched his forehead. “Oh, I, uh,” he began to talk as if he were being choked. “I see, I see…a necklace. Gold, yes, gold.”
The detective’s eyes widened. “Shawn! Mrs. DuMont had a gold necklace listed among her missing items.”
Shawn smirked knowingly. “Jules, psychic, remember?” With his eyes closed, he touched his temple. “And I’m sensing something else metallic, old-”
“It was the historical society, Spencer, everything is old,” Detective Lassiter added with an annoyed sigh.
Shawn opened an eye to peer at him. “Lassie, please, don’t be petty.” He closed his eyes, held his hand up in the shape of a gun. “A gun, yes, I sense a gun.”
Gus stepped back from his friend. His mind was buzzing a million miles an hour. Shawn gave him a quick concerned look, but returned his attention to the detectives.
“Yes, a gun from the Jack Powers collection was also missing!” Jules looked from the case file to Shawn. “Shawn, that’s amazing.”
Shawn straightened his shoulders, puffed out his chest. “Yeah, I am pretty amazing. Just look at my hair, that should be proof of my awesomen--”
“Shawn!” Gus hissed at him and pulled Shawn backwards causing him to stumble. “I gotta talk to you.”
O’Hara noticed Gus’s odd behavior, and wrinkled her brow, but Lassiter started to walk away. “Well, Shawn, when your amazing brain comes up with more, call me.” Juliet smiled before joining in step with her partner.
Shawn nodded to her, but immediately turned his focus to his partner. “Well, Gus?”
Gus kept his eyes on the others. When they were far enough away so as not to hear him, he began. “Shawn, the necklace, the Powers gun, you know what that means, don’t you?”
Shawn looked completely bewildered. Then he squinted at Gus, “The International Man of Mystery has been unfrozen and is roaming the streets of Santa Barbara?”
“What?!” Gus nearly shouted in disbelief and began to walk off. “Shawn, be serious.” He didn’t stop walking. “That stuff was from the historical society, remember?”
Shawn nodded slowly as he caught up to his friend. “Yes, Gus, I am well aware--”
“Well then you should also be aware that the gun and necklace are cursed.” Shawn looked like he was about to interrupt, but Gus didn’t give him the chance. “And since the mansion is haunted, you know it was Powers’ ghost that did the killing.”
a/n: Jack Powers really was a notorious gangster in early Santa Barbara history.
Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5