Psych Fic - This Is Not (Real)
Title: This Is Not (Real)
Fandom: Psych
Character(s): Shawn, Lassiter
Genre: Humour, with a side of drama and sprinkle of hurt/comfort.
Pairing: Gen
Spoilers: Just to be safe, up to 3x11 (Lassie Did A Bad, Bad Thing).
(for one repeated line)
Disclaimer: Psych doesn't belong to me, this is solely for fun. No copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: 3,100
Summary: Shawn is grinning at him. "Welcome to limbo, Lassie." Is it worth seeing everything if you can do nothing?
-
Empty handed, surrounded by a senseless scene;
With nothing of significance but the shadow of a dream
'See The World' - Gomez
-
Blink.
Lassiter jerks awake with a sharp intake of air, hand drifting towards his holster when he doesn't immediately recognize his surroundings. By the looks of things, he's fallen asleep on the Chief's couch.
Except Carlton doesn't remember walking into Vick's office. What he remembers is sitting at his desk, working on a list of known associates of their latest murder victim.
He sits up uncomfortably, glancing towards the Chief's chair to confirm his Boss is out of the room. He can't imagine having to explain why her Head Detective is napping instead of working - that sounds more like something Spencer would do.
What he finds is a touch more frightening than expected. "Lassie! Good morning, sleeping beauty!"
"Spencer," he growls. "What is going on here?"
The psychic consultant spins around once in the Chief's chair before propping his feet up on the desk.
"You have come to the dark side," Shawn imparts darkly. "To bust a cookie smuggling ring."
Lassiter is unimpressed, so Shawn gestures towards the door. Resisting the urge to draw his weapon, Carlton strides towards the exit and yanks the door open.
"I wish you'd turned around." Shawn calls. "Or at least shifted to the side slightly. It's so much harder for the spirits to show me your gaping fish look." Harder to catch more than a glimpse of it reflected in the window.
Lassiter's eyes scan the bullpen looking for threats. Unfortunately, he considers about 80% of the room to be a threat, considering--.
"-Spencer! Why are dead bodies wandering around the Santa Barbara Police Department?"
Shawn grins back at him. "Welcome to limbo, Lassie."
-
"... here we have Susan, Frank, Amy - and this is Arthur.." Shawn leads him down the line of ghosts, introducing them one-by-one.
Lassiter stops at the last guy and frowns. "I'm investigating his murder," he comments, jerking his thumb at the translucent man.
Arthur shrugs. "Terrible thing, that. Detective O'Hara was right, by the way - it was a drug deal gone wrong." Carlton frowns, ignoring Arthur's words as he turns to speak to Spencer. Now he knows this is a dream (and therefore, perfectly false) - his conspiracy theory about this being a murder to cover up a larger drug-smuggling ring was perfectly valid!
"What is this, Spencer? Why are you here? Why am I here?"
Shawn fakes an overdramatic gasp and places a hand over his heart. "Why Lassie, I'm shocked. You don't want to be here? I thought the Police Department was home to such a dedicated Head Detective as yourself."
"Heart's on the left side of your body, Spencer."
Shawn shrugs. "Ah, well." He steps into Lassiter's personal space, resting a hand on the detective's shoulder. Carlton regards it disdainfully, but decides not to pin the consultant up against the wall just yet - O'Hara is always quoting him sayings about catching more flies with honey. He likes to call those sayings 'myths.'
"What are you doing?"
"Change of scenery. Your attitude is just ruining the positive environment here." Shawn holds up a lecturing finger. "Positivity is power, Lassie."
Before Lassiter can ask what 'change of scenery' is supposed to mean, Shawn has placed a hand to his temple in his traditional 'psychic' pose and the world around them is shifting; blurring.
When things stop, Lassiter realizes he recognizes this place - he's only been in the Psych office a handful of times, but he would recognize Shawn Spencer's handiwork anywhere. This office is chock full of it-from the filing system (a stack in the corner that Spencer has set a pair of night vision goggles on top of) to the doodles on the whiteboard Spencer keeps lying around for puzzling things out.
Spencer looks right at home here - settling himself on the couch easily. He props a hand up under his elbow and regards Lassiter with a grin. "Now, you try one."
-
"Am I dead? Are you dead? Did I shoot you? Oh, great - I shot you and I don't even get to enjoy it because I can't remember it."
Shawn rolls his eyes. Lassiter had transported himself to his apartment and managed to leave Shawn behind, leaving it to the psychic to track the detective down. Once he'd found the man, Carlton hadn't stopped asking questions long enough to let Shawn get a word in edgewise.
"You didn't shoot me and neither of us is dead, as far as I know."
"How did we get here? How do we get back, for that matter?"
"I don't know. To both." Now that the initial novelty of moving around limbo at will and seeing dead people has passed, Shawn finds the mood as depressing as it had been in the two hours (by his watch, at least) before Lassiter's arrival.
"What do you know, then? Tell me the full story - no omitting details."
Shawn frowns. "Are you saying I've done that before? Remind me to add more details to my next reveal - obviously, you feel I haven't been thorough enough." Shawn wants to be serious - really, he does - but Lassiter makes things too easy.
"Spencer," Lassiter grits out.
"Fine, fine," the psychic waves his anger away. "The last thing I remember is being called in on a murder case by the Chief. The Nicholson case. That was Monday night."
Lassiter frowns. "You- we solved that one," he corrects the pronoun usage automatically, refusing to give Spencer sole credit for the conclusion of the case. "That was yesterday. Today's Tuesday."
"Why is your timeline more correct than mine? You could easily have imagined a day passing. It could still be Monday now, in fact."
"My version of events is further along than yours," Carlton points out. "Plus, my memory is more reliable than yours."
The irony in that statement is almost too much for Shawn to bear. He rolls his eyes but decides not to argue the point.
Lassiter is quiet for a minute, trying to figure out what their next steps should be.
Shawn's a few steps ahead of him. "Obviously, we can manipulate our environment. We've both been able to change our location. The ghosts appeared and the living vanished when I tried to animate Gus to come join me. It makes sense that we would be able to move around in time, as well. Why don't we try and view both our memories and see if we can fill in any of the missing pieces?"
Carlton grimaces. It's not a bad plan, actually - and the conclusions Spencer has drawn are logical. The petty part of his personality simply wishes he was the one to come up with it.
Shawn can see the moment Lassiter comes around. Looping two fingers around the man's wrist in a loose grip, he thinks about Monday afternoon.
-
Shawn doesn't notice that things are amiss at first - he's too busy trying to trap whatever overlooked detail from the crime scene is still kicking around his brain, waiting to find its place in the reconstruction of events he is so carefully piecing together.
He looks to his left to ask Gus a question, and finds Lassiter there instead. He's standing now - although he can't for the life of him remember getting to his feet - so he turns on his heel. Gus is on the other side of the room. What he remembers as being the other side of the room.
Neither Gus nor Lassiter is moving. Nor is anybody else in the room.
Next, he looks down to find himself standing in the space the table should be occupying. That the table is occupying, in fact. Everything below his waist-level is hidden beneath the wooden veneer that was so very solid just earlier today.
Huh. He'd always wondered what it would be like to become a ghost.
-
"That's it for me. Show's all yours, Lassie."
-
Lassiter sits up uncomfortably, glancing towards the Chief's chair to confirm his Boss is out of the room. He can't imagine explaining to her why her Head Detective is napping instead of working - that sounds more like something Spencer would do.
What he finds is a touch more frightening than expected. "Lassie! Good morning, sleeping beauty!"
-
"Humour, Carly. Didn't know you had it in you!"
"You're the one that remembers this. I'm not convinced this isn't a dream."
Shawn rolls his eyes, then shuts them tight as he concentrates on something. He grabs hold of Lassiter again - while they've established that physical contact is necessary so that one of them doesn't get left behind, Lassiter would almost prefer to go that route - and watches the scene blur around them.
-
They land - land? is that the proper term for these things? - in the police station again. The dead bodies are missing this time, and the proper inhabitants of the building have returned. Juliet and Gus are at the front of the room, holding a conference for the bullpen.
"Are they...?" Lassiter asks.
"Is that...?" Shawn trails off.
"Head Detective Lassiter and Psychic Consultant-" Juliet is announcing.
"Head Psychic Consultant, thank you very much," Shawn mumbles. Lassiter smacks him in the arm to quiet him.
"What?" Shawn complains. "Obviously, Jules can't hear us. I tried shouting at them earlier."
"-Shawn Spencer have been missing for nearly twelve hours now. Mr. Guster has informed us that Shawn was kidnapped from his office at Psych. Detective Lassiter and I went to investigate his disappearance, and he disappeared shortly thereafter." Juliet goes on to give further details - the timeline of events, likely suspects, and what everyone can do to help out.
"Kidnapped?" Shawn repeats incredulously. "Drugged would explain this better."
Lassiter frowns. "That isn't out of the question yet."
-
"You know, Jules gave me an idea."
"Oh, boy. Here we go." Lassiter looks over at the psychic in time to see Spencer disappear. In between waves of anger, it occurs to him that maybe Spencer had a point that first time - it is annoying to be the one left behind.
Glancing around to make sure nobody's looking - What somebody? They're invisible ghosts floating around time and space. He could dance naked on the table and nobody would see - he puts his hand to his temple, closes his eyes, and thinks 'bring me to Spencer.'
-
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Spencer!" He grabs the psychic by the shoulder, spinning him around to thoroughly chew him out. Most of his anger evaporates once he registers the state Spencer is in.
"What happened?" He questions again, more gently. Spencer is crouched down on the ground, one hand threaded through his hair in a traditional headache pose.
"I tried to land where we're being held. This body updated to its most recent status in reality," Shawn drawls slowly. Lassiter looks up and sure enough, before him are a second Shawn Spencer - like his sanity could sustain a second one, really - and his own body.
They're being held in a warehouse. Both of them are tied to chairs, while three suspects circle. The leader of the trio is spouting off, detailing his evil plan in clichéd villain style. Real!Shawn has a fair sized goose egg on his head, which would explain the headache that Ghost!Shawn seems to have come down with.
As for Lassiter, his arms are sore - his real body seems relatively unharmed, but both versions are sporting a spectacular display of raw skin that suggests he's struggled against the ropes holding him in place. Then again, he would expect nothing less of himself.
"Why didn't we do this earlier?" Lassiter wonders aloud. "We could have figured out what was going on much earlier."
Shawn frowns. "I didn't know we could."
Lassiter raises an eyebrow. "You discovered you could move locations, people, and time-but didn't think to find your own body?"
"I've been thinking of specific places when I jumped!" Lassiter makes a face at Shawn's choice of words. "Shifted?" He tries again. Lassiter's facial expression doesn't change, so Shawn shrugs it off. "-we'll work on a better description later. How have you been doing this?"
"Thinking about things. I thought about being comfortable--."
"-is that when we ended up at the coffee shop?"
Lassiter smacks him in the arm again. It had been, actually - but he's not admitting that to Spencer anytime soon.
On the other side of the room, Real!Shawn flinches. The significance of that hits Shawn first, and he takes advantage of this newfound realization by kicking Ghost!Lassiter in the shin.
"Ow!" Sure enough, Real!Lassiter's shin twitches as well.
Lassiter shoves Ghost!Shawn away, and watches Real!Shawn move in response.
"I think..." Shawn begins dramatically. "We've figured out how to communicate with reality."
-
Lassiter strides forward to see his own body. He tries placing a hand on his arm, but it goes right through. He whispers something in his ear, but there is no evidence his message has been received.
"I think we can only affect each other's bodies," Shawn calls. The psychic is lounging in mid-air, taking full advantage of his ability to manipulate time and space to gain temporary flight.
With a frown, Lassiter moves on to Real!Shawn and whispers something in his ear. Both versions of the man stiffen.
"Yahtzee!" Shawn replies. Gus never liked Bingo, anyways.
-
This entire experience simply reinforces the picture Lassiter has had of Spencer all along - that of a six-year old kid's mind in an adult's body.
They discover how to communicate with reality - not only reality, but their very real bodies - and instead of doing something useful like plotting their escape - Spencer wants to play telephone.
"A really cool, inter-dimensional game of telephone!" Shawn defends.
-
"Alright, that's it! I'm sick of waiting around--." Lassiter pulls his gun from his shoulder holster, drawing a bead on the closest suspect.
"I already tried that."
"You tried shooting them? Really?"
"Actually, I tried hitting them with a slingshot. Some of us don't carry two guns around normally."
Lassiter frowns, flexing his ankle to check that his backup is still securely attached. "It's called being prepared, Spencer."
"It starts with a 'p', alright. Followed by an '- aranoia.'"
-
"What are you doing?" Lassiter asks, his curiosity getting the best of him. Shawn has been holding his 'psychic' pose for two minutes now.
"Trying to conjure us up some painkillers. I don't know about you, but either version of me would appreciate some Tylenol right now."
-
"The one on the left - Tiny - isn't carrying," Ghost!Shawn whispers in Real!Lassiter's ear. The two incorporeal beings are taking turns staking out the warehouse and relaying information to the living ones.
If the real versions of themselves find it strange that they are hearing voices in their head and fielding invisible blows, they are dealing remarkably well with things.
By now, they have established that while any touches they exchange can be felt by their counterparts, they are not able to interact any further on a physical level - including untying their restraints to aid in the escape.
"There are two exits. The first is easiest to remember but watched more carefully - the main door." Ghost!Lassiter tells Real!Shawn.
"What about the second?" Ghost!Shawn calls.
"It's more complicated - you won't remember it."
Shawn grins. "Try me."
-
Shawn identifies and nicknames the three suspects according to height. Tiny, Stretch, and Tall. It frightens Lassiter that he knows who's who without needing an explanation.
-
They get a better picture of events listening in on Tall's monologue. The three believed Shawn could psychically divine their guilt in the murder investigation, and had kidnapped him to prevent their crimes from being discovered. Gus hadn't been taken because the newspaper reports had established that Shawn was the only psychic member of the duo.
Unfortunately, none of the three are buying that not only does Shawn's 'gift' not work that way - he is perfectly willing to forget the three exist if they're willing to let him go.
Lassiter is trying to deflect attention away from Spencer - the man can't keep his mouth shut, and it's likely to get him in even more trouble - with little luck.
Stretch lands a blow to Shawn's abdomen. Ghost!Lassiter supports his ethereal counterpart as he doubles over in pain from the punch. "Just breathe, Spencer," he murmurs quietly.
Lassiter's choice words for Stretch make the tips of both Shawn's ears turn red.
-
Things are silent for a long while, and then--.
"... is that?" Shawn starts.
Lassiter is sporting an expression halfway between a grimace and a smile. Shawn identifies it as 'relief', later.
"Rescue," Carlton confirms.
-
When Shawn wakes up in the hospital, the first thing he does is poke a sleeping Gus in the arm. Out of concern (and intense relief), his best friend doesn't even return the blow.
"Just checking," Shawn confirms sleepily.
-
"Lassie, hold up a minute!" Shawn calls, jogging up to the Head Detective. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Lassiter frowns, but obliges; pulling Shawn into a quiet corner.
They haven't talked about what happened when they were kidnapped. Shawn can remember bits and pieces of what happened - he can't shake the feeling he was a ghost, for some reason- but mostly, he's looking for confirmation that he didn't dream the whole thing.
"I brought you cookies," Shawn offers after a minute of awkward silence. "In case you needed any hard evidence to bring down that cookie-smuggling ring."
Lassiter's eyes widen in recognition, and then Shawn knows.
"So I'm not the only one that remembers that."
Carlton glances over his shoulder to check that they're alone. "We solved... Arthur's... murder. Turned out to be a drug deal gone bad."
Shawn just grins. Placing one hand on Lassiter's shoulder and the other to his temple in memory of that first jump, his smile widens. "See you when we land, Lassie!"
Spencer spins him around a few times to make the world blur once more.
"This is not... that was not..." Carlton sputters.
"... real?"
-
Lassiter's head snaps up as he goes from asleep to awake in five seconds flat. Glancing around the empty bullpen, he comes to the conclusion he must have been dreaming.
Then he spies the tin of cookies on his desk. The pineapple shape of the container alone means they could only have come from one person.
The note on top reads:
Lassie,
You're really slacking on this cookie-smuggling ring. If you don't make some progress, the Chief will have to let me work on the case. On second thought - keep napping. ; )
- Head(!) Psychic Detective Spenstar. \o/
There's no mistaking the note is from Spencer, either.
Not with the nuance, emoticons, and signature mocking tone.
Fin
Fandom: Psych
Character(s): Shawn, Lassiter
Genre: Humour, with a side of drama and sprinkle of hurt/comfort.
Pairing: Gen
Spoilers: Just to be safe, up to 3x11 (Lassie Did A Bad, Bad Thing).
(for one repeated line)
Disclaimer: Psych doesn't belong to me, this is solely for fun. No copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: 3,100
Summary: Shawn is grinning at him. "Welcome to limbo, Lassie." Is it worth seeing everything if you can do nothing?
-
Empty handed, surrounded by a senseless scene;
With nothing of significance but the shadow of a dream
'See The World' - Gomez
-
Blink.
Lassiter jerks awake with a sharp intake of air, hand drifting towards his holster when he doesn't immediately recognize his surroundings. By the looks of things, he's fallen asleep on the Chief's couch.
Except Carlton doesn't remember walking into Vick's office. What he remembers is sitting at his desk, working on a list of known associates of their latest murder victim.
He sits up uncomfortably, glancing towards the Chief's chair to confirm his Boss is out of the room. He can't imagine having to explain why her Head Detective is napping instead of working - that sounds more like something Spencer would do.
What he finds is a touch more frightening than expected. "Lassie! Good morning, sleeping beauty!"
"Spencer," he growls. "What is going on here?"
The psychic consultant spins around once in the Chief's chair before propping his feet up on the desk.
"You have come to the dark side," Shawn imparts darkly. "To bust a cookie smuggling ring."
Lassiter is unimpressed, so Shawn gestures towards the door. Resisting the urge to draw his weapon, Carlton strides towards the exit and yanks the door open.
"I wish you'd turned around." Shawn calls. "Or at least shifted to the side slightly. It's so much harder for the spirits to show me your gaping fish look." Harder to catch more than a glimpse of it reflected in the window.
Lassiter's eyes scan the bullpen looking for threats. Unfortunately, he considers about 80% of the room to be a threat, considering--.
"-Spencer! Why are dead bodies wandering around the Santa Barbara Police Department?"
Shawn grins back at him. "Welcome to limbo, Lassie."
-
"... here we have Susan, Frank, Amy - and this is Arthur.." Shawn leads him down the line of ghosts, introducing them one-by-one.
Lassiter stops at the last guy and frowns. "I'm investigating his murder," he comments, jerking his thumb at the translucent man.
Arthur shrugs. "Terrible thing, that. Detective O'Hara was right, by the way - it was a drug deal gone wrong." Carlton frowns, ignoring Arthur's words as he turns to speak to Spencer. Now he knows this is a dream (and therefore, perfectly false) - his conspiracy theory about this being a murder to cover up a larger drug-smuggling ring was perfectly valid!
"What is this, Spencer? Why are you here? Why am I here?"
Shawn fakes an overdramatic gasp and places a hand over his heart. "Why Lassie, I'm shocked. You don't want to be here? I thought the Police Department was home to such a dedicated Head Detective as yourself."
"Heart's on the left side of your body, Spencer."
Shawn shrugs. "Ah, well." He steps into Lassiter's personal space, resting a hand on the detective's shoulder. Carlton regards it disdainfully, but decides not to pin the consultant up against the wall just yet - O'Hara is always quoting him sayings about catching more flies with honey. He likes to call those sayings 'myths.'
"What are you doing?"
"Change of scenery. Your attitude is just ruining the positive environment here." Shawn holds up a lecturing finger. "Positivity is power, Lassie."
Before Lassiter can ask what 'change of scenery' is supposed to mean, Shawn has placed a hand to his temple in his traditional 'psychic' pose and the world around them is shifting; blurring.
When things stop, Lassiter realizes he recognizes this place - he's only been in the Psych office a handful of times, but he would recognize Shawn Spencer's handiwork anywhere. This office is chock full of it-from the filing system (a stack in the corner that Spencer has set a pair of night vision goggles on top of) to the doodles on the whiteboard Spencer keeps lying around for puzzling things out.
Spencer looks right at home here - settling himself on the couch easily. He props a hand up under his elbow and regards Lassiter with a grin. "Now, you try one."
-
"Am I dead? Are you dead? Did I shoot you? Oh, great - I shot you and I don't even get to enjoy it because I can't remember it."
Shawn rolls his eyes. Lassiter had transported himself to his apartment and managed to leave Shawn behind, leaving it to the psychic to track the detective down. Once he'd found the man, Carlton hadn't stopped asking questions long enough to let Shawn get a word in edgewise.
"You didn't shoot me and neither of us is dead, as far as I know."
"How did we get here? How do we get back, for that matter?"
"I don't know. To both." Now that the initial novelty of moving around limbo at will and seeing dead people has passed, Shawn finds the mood as depressing as it had been in the two hours (by his watch, at least) before Lassiter's arrival.
"What do you know, then? Tell me the full story - no omitting details."
Shawn frowns. "Are you saying I've done that before? Remind me to add more details to my next reveal - obviously, you feel I haven't been thorough enough." Shawn wants to be serious - really, he does - but Lassiter makes things too easy.
"Spencer," Lassiter grits out.
"Fine, fine," the psychic waves his anger away. "The last thing I remember is being called in on a murder case by the Chief. The Nicholson case. That was Monday night."
Lassiter frowns. "You- we solved that one," he corrects the pronoun usage automatically, refusing to give Spencer sole credit for the conclusion of the case. "That was yesterday. Today's Tuesday."
"Why is your timeline more correct than mine? You could easily have imagined a day passing. It could still be Monday now, in fact."
"My version of events is further along than yours," Carlton points out. "Plus, my memory is more reliable than yours."
The irony in that statement is almost too much for Shawn to bear. He rolls his eyes but decides not to argue the point.
Lassiter is quiet for a minute, trying to figure out what their next steps should be.
Shawn's a few steps ahead of him. "Obviously, we can manipulate our environment. We've both been able to change our location. The ghosts appeared and the living vanished when I tried to animate Gus to come join me. It makes sense that we would be able to move around in time, as well. Why don't we try and view both our memories and see if we can fill in any of the missing pieces?"
Carlton grimaces. It's not a bad plan, actually - and the conclusions Spencer has drawn are logical. The petty part of his personality simply wishes he was the one to come up with it.
Shawn can see the moment Lassiter comes around. Looping two fingers around the man's wrist in a loose grip, he thinks about Monday afternoon.
-
Shawn doesn't notice that things are amiss at first - he's too busy trying to trap whatever overlooked detail from the crime scene is still kicking around his brain, waiting to find its place in the reconstruction of events he is so carefully piecing together.
He looks to his left to ask Gus a question, and finds Lassiter there instead. He's standing now - although he can't for the life of him remember getting to his feet - so he turns on his heel. Gus is on the other side of the room. What he remembers as being the other side of the room.
Neither Gus nor Lassiter is moving. Nor is anybody else in the room.
Next, he looks down to find himself standing in the space the table should be occupying. That the table is occupying, in fact. Everything below his waist-level is hidden beneath the wooden veneer that was so very solid just earlier today.
Huh. He'd always wondered what it would be like to become a ghost.
-
"That's it for me. Show's all yours, Lassie."
-
Lassiter sits up uncomfortably, glancing towards the Chief's chair to confirm his Boss is out of the room. He can't imagine explaining to her why her Head Detective is napping instead of working - that sounds more like something Spencer would do.
What he finds is a touch more frightening than expected. "Lassie! Good morning, sleeping beauty!"
-
"Humour, Carly. Didn't know you had it in you!"
"You're the one that remembers this. I'm not convinced this isn't a dream."
Shawn rolls his eyes, then shuts them tight as he concentrates on something. He grabs hold of Lassiter again - while they've established that physical contact is necessary so that one of them doesn't get left behind, Lassiter would almost prefer to go that route - and watches the scene blur around them.
-
They land - land? is that the proper term for these things? - in the police station again. The dead bodies are missing this time, and the proper inhabitants of the building have returned. Juliet and Gus are at the front of the room, holding a conference for the bullpen.
"Are they...?" Lassiter asks.
"Is that...?" Shawn trails off.
"Head Detective Lassiter and Psychic Consultant-" Juliet is announcing.
"Head Psychic Consultant, thank you very much," Shawn mumbles. Lassiter smacks him in the arm to quiet him.
"What?" Shawn complains. "Obviously, Jules can't hear us. I tried shouting at them earlier."
"-Shawn Spencer have been missing for nearly twelve hours now. Mr. Guster has informed us that Shawn was kidnapped from his office at Psych. Detective Lassiter and I went to investigate his disappearance, and he disappeared shortly thereafter." Juliet goes on to give further details - the timeline of events, likely suspects, and what everyone can do to help out.
"Kidnapped?" Shawn repeats incredulously. "Drugged would explain this better."
Lassiter frowns. "That isn't out of the question yet."
-
"You know, Jules gave me an idea."
"Oh, boy. Here we go." Lassiter looks over at the psychic in time to see Spencer disappear. In between waves of anger, it occurs to him that maybe Spencer had a point that first time - it is annoying to be the one left behind.
Glancing around to make sure nobody's looking - What somebody? They're invisible ghosts floating around time and space. He could dance naked on the table and nobody would see - he puts his hand to his temple, closes his eyes, and thinks 'bring me to Spencer.'
-
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Spencer!" He grabs the psychic by the shoulder, spinning him around to thoroughly chew him out. Most of his anger evaporates once he registers the state Spencer is in.
"What happened?" He questions again, more gently. Spencer is crouched down on the ground, one hand threaded through his hair in a traditional headache pose.
"I tried to land where we're being held. This body updated to its most recent status in reality," Shawn drawls slowly. Lassiter looks up and sure enough, before him are a second Shawn Spencer - like his sanity could sustain a second one, really - and his own body.
They're being held in a warehouse. Both of them are tied to chairs, while three suspects circle. The leader of the trio is spouting off, detailing his evil plan in clichéd villain style. Real!Shawn has a fair sized goose egg on his head, which would explain the headache that Ghost!Shawn seems to have come down with.
As for Lassiter, his arms are sore - his real body seems relatively unharmed, but both versions are sporting a spectacular display of raw skin that suggests he's struggled against the ropes holding him in place. Then again, he would expect nothing less of himself.
"Why didn't we do this earlier?" Lassiter wonders aloud. "We could have figured out what was going on much earlier."
Shawn frowns. "I didn't know we could."
Lassiter raises an eyebrow. "You discovered you could move locations, people, and time-but didn't think to find your own body?"
"I've been thinking of specific places when I jumped!" Lassiter makes a face at Shawn's choice of words. "Shifted?" He tries again. Lassiter's facial expression doesn't change, so Shawn shrugs it off. "-we'll work on a better description later. How have you been doing this?"
"Thinking about things. I thought about being comfortable--."
"-is that when we ended up at the coffee shop?"
Lassiter smacks him in the arm again. It had been, actually - but he's not admitting that to Spencer anytime soon.
On the other side of the room, Real!Shawn flinches. The significance of that hits Shawn first, and he takes advantage of this newfound realization by kicking Ghost!Lassiter in the shin.
"Ow!" Sure enough, Real!Lassiter's shin twitches as well.
Lassiter shoves Ghost!Shawn away, and watches Real!Shawn move in response.
"I think..." Shawn begins dramatically. "We've figured out how to communicate with reality."
-
Lassiter strides forward to see his own body. He tries placing a hand on his arm, but it goes right through. He whispers something in his ear, but there is no evidence his message has been received.
"I think we can only affect each other's bodies," Shawn calls. The psychic is lounging in mid-air, taking full advantage of his ability to manipulate time and space to gain temporary flight.
With a frown, Lassiter moves on to Real!Shawn and whispers something in his ear. Both versions of the man stiffen.
"Yahtzee!" Shawn replies. Gus never liked Bingo, anyways.
-
This entire experience simply reinforces the picture Lassiter has had of Spencer all along - that of a six-year old kid's mind in an adult's body.
They discover how to communicate with reality - not only reality, but their very real bodies - and instead of doing something useful like plotting their escape - Spencer wants to play telephone.
"A really cool, inter-dimensional game of telephone!" Shawn defends.
-
"Alright, that's it! I'm sick of waiting around--." Lassiter pulls his gun from his shoulder holster, drawing a bead on the closest suspect.
"I already tried that."
"You tried shooting them? Really?"
"Actually, I tried hitting them with a slingshot. Some of us don't carry two guns around normally."
Lassiter frowns, flexing his ankle to check that his backup is still securely attached. "It's called being prepared, Spencer."
"It starts with a 'p', alright. Followed by an '- aranoia.'"
-
"What are you doing?" Lassiter asks, his curiosity getting the best of him. Shawn has been holding his 'psychic' pose for two minutes now.
"Trying to conjure us up some painkillers. I don't know about you, but either version of me would appreciate some Tylenol right now."
-
"The one on the left - Tiny - isn't carrying," Ghost!Shawn whispers in Real!Lassiter's ear. The two incorporeal beings are taking turns staking out the warehouse and relaying information to the living ones.
If the real versions of themselves find it strange that they are hearing voices in their head and fielding invisible blows, they are dealing remarkably well with things.
By now, they have established that while any touches they exchange can be felt by their counterparts, they are not able to interact any further on a physical level - including untying their restraints to aid in the escape.
"There are two exits. The first is easiest to remember but watched more carefully - the main door." Ghost!Lassiter tells Real!Shawn.
"What about the second?" Ghost!Shawn calls.
"It's more complicated - you won't remember it."
Shawn grins. "Try me."
-
Shawn identifies and nicknames the three suspects according to height. Tiny, Stretch, and Tall. It frightens Lassiter that he knows who's who without needing an explanation.
-
They get a better picture of events listening in on Tall's monologue. The three believed Shawn could psychically divine their guilt in the murder investigation, and had kidnapped him to prevent their crimes from being discovered. Gus hadn't been taken because the newspaper reports had established that Shawn was the only psychic member of the duo.
Unfortunately, none of the three are buying that not only does Shawn's 'gift' not work that way - he is perfectly willing to forget the three exist if they're willing to let him go.
Lassiter is trying to deflect attention away from Spencer - the man can't keep his mouth shut, and it's likely to get him in even more trouble - with little luck.
Stretch lands a blow to Shawn's abdomen. Ghost!Lassiter supports his ethereal counterpart as he doubles over in pain from the punch. "Just breathe, Spencer," he murmurs quietly.
Lassiter's choice words for Stretch make the tips of both Shawn's ears turn red.
-
Things are silent for a long while, and then--.
"... is that?" Shawn starts.
Lassiter is sporting an expression halfway between a grimace and a smile. Shawn identifies it as 'relief', later.
"Rescue," Carlton confirms.
-
When Shawn wakes up in the hospital, the first thing he does is poke a sleeping Gus in the arm. Out of concern (and intense relief), his best friend doesn't even return the blow.
"Just checking," Shawn confirms sleepily.
-
"Lassie, hold up a minute!" Shawn calls, jogging up to the Head Detective. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Lassiter frowns, but obliges; pulling Shawn into a quiet corner.
They haven't talked about what happened when they were kidnapped. Shawn can remember bits and pieces of what happened - he can't shake the feeling he was a ghost, for some reason- but mostly, he's looking for confirmation that he didn't dream the whole thing.
"I brought you cookies," Shawn offers after a minute of awkward silence. "In case you needed any hard evidence to bring down that cookie-smuggling ring."
Lassiter's eyes widen in recognition, and then Shawn knows.
"So I'm not the only one that remembers that."
Carlton glances over his shoulder to check that they're alone. "We solved... Arthur's... murder. Turned out to be a drug deal gone bad."
Shawn just grins. Placing one hand on Lassiter's shoulder and the other to his temple in memory of that first jump, his smile widens. "See you when we land, Lassie!"
Spencer spins him around a few times to make the world blur once more.
"This is not... that was not..." Carlton sputters.
"... real?"
-
Lassiter's head snaps up as he goes from asleep to awake in five seconds flat. Glancing around the empty bullpen, he comes to the conclusion he must have been dreaming.
Then he spies the tin of cookies on his desk. The pineapple shape of the container alone means they could only have come from one person.
The note on top reads:
Lassie,
You're really slacking on this cookie-smuggling ring. If you don't make some progress, the Chief will have to let me work on the case. On second thought - keep napping. ; )
- Head(!) Psychic Detective Spenstar. \o/
There's no mistaking the note is from Spencer, either.
Not with the nuance, emoticons, and signature mocking tone.
Fin