Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In retrospect, this had been a horrible idea. Doomed from the start.

He would say that he at least made a good effort to stop it from being such a disaster. Things had just progressed too fast for his efforts to make any real difference. He was sure that there would be numerous ‘He was a psychic, he should have seen it coming’ comments that would be at his funeral.

His funeral.

When this became part of his regular routine, he’d made sure to write up just how he wanted his funeral to go; which songs to play, what exactly he wanted to be buried with, and even a disc that was supposed to be hand delivered to his favorite Head Detective so he could get in one final ‘You were right, Lassie’. He only hoped that they found his instructions.

The ground came at him fast and the next thing he knew, he was laying on the cool gray cement of the warehouse, watching as liquid flowed from his chest and the pool of his blood spread out from under him. In the distance, he thought he heard sirens and he could only hope that it wasn’t the blood loss playing tricks on him. His body felt like a thousand pounds and he was freezing. As the darkness began to envelop him, he could tell the sirens were getting closer, and he couldn’t help but smile ever slightly.

Then it all went silent and black.

When he came back, he gasped for air as though he had been drowning. Who knows how long he’d been in the darkness or just what the fuck had happened but there he was, standing in the warehouse. Trying to get his bearings, the ‘psychic’ detective felt his head swimming. He felt like shit, which wasn’t really a surprise considering he’d been shot.

But if he was shot, why was he just standing here? Why wasn’t he dead? Looking down at his chest, he frowned as he found a clean plaid shirt on his body. Did it not happen? Wandering around the warehouse, he paused as he saw where the shooter had stood and where he’d clearly … Died? This was it, right? He was dead and now he was a ghost.

That was dumb. There was no such thing as ghosts. He’d just head to Psych and figure out just what the hell was going on.

It took him nearly two and a half hours to walk back to the office and he was exhausted (another reason he was sure he wasn’t a ghost. How could ghosts get tired?) All he wanted to do was plop down on his couch and pass out. He’d let everyone know the good news, that he was alive, after a cat nap. Reaching out, he went to grab the handle and felt a surge of panic rise through him as his hand went right through the door handle.

The psychic stood there, dumbfounded, for a moment. “Oh ha-ha. Very funny, Gus! I don’t know how you did it, but that’s hilarious. Imagine what Halloween’s gonna be like this year with a trick like that!” Reaching for the handle again, his face fell as once again, his hand went through the handle.

Oh fuck.

Maybe he could just … Pausing a moment, he held his hand out, letting out a quiet gasp as his hand went through the door as well. Okay, he could work with this. Sucking in a breath and closing his eyes, he stepped through the door. Opening one eye at first, he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or completely freaked the hell out. This was certainly not good for his I’m-not-a-ghost theory.

Okay, the next stop should be the hospital. He distinctly remembered sirens just before he had passed out. If he was dead, they would have brought his body there, probably. Seemed logical.

Another hour and an exhausted fake psychic found himself at the hospital. At least being all spectral-y made things much, much easier. No one could see him walk in and around the lobby, nor could they see when he found his name on the patient files at the nurse’s station. At least he was alive. They wouldn’t have given room 304 to a dead body.

Practically sprinting up the stairs, he skidded to a halt in the doorway of room 304. A police officer he’d seen a few times around the station stood guard outside the door. Well, that was reassuring. Gliding through the door with a newly practiced ease, he immediately frowned at the scene before him.

There he was.

The dry erase board on the wall announced to visitors and doctors that the patient in the bed was ‘Shawn Spencer’ but he didn’t need the reminder. He’d seen that face in the mirror for years. However, he was used to seeing it a lot less dead looking. Monitors beeping meant he was very much alive, thankfully, but that didn’t answer any questions.

Shawn looked to the chairs in his room, perking up some as he saw his best friend staring at his body, worry painted on his face. “Gus! My beautiful, beautiful man!”

No answer.

“Gus … Cmon. I know you can hear me, buddy. You gotta. That’s what best friends are there for! In sickness and in health! And y’know, til death do us part, but I’m not exactly dead yet, so you’re pretty much contractually obligated to deal with me right now.”

No answer again.

Shawn wilted, plopping down in the chair next to Gus, waving his hand in front of Gus’ face. Gus gave a sad sigh. He looked as if he’d been crying for hours. “Shawn …”

“YES! I knew you could hear me buddy! Look, I don’t know what’s going on—“

“Why the hell wouldn’t you wait for backup?!”

Shawn was a bit caught off guard at the sudden question, “Well, I mean … Yknow … I did text you! But they had the girl! I was trying to get to her before they killed her but … I’m pretty sure I was too late …”

“If you would have waited … Just … Just five more minutes …” Gus started, lip trembling as he started to tear up again.

“Dude … I’m right here. I’m okay … At least I think I am …” He said, looking down at himself. “I’m right here though, man. No need to get all teary eyed … Gus?”

Gus didn’t seem to notice Shawn at all. He wasn’t turning to acknowledge him or glancing his way, nothing. Shawn took in a deep breath before giving his loudest yell in Gus’ ear.

Nothing.

The realization sent a chill down Shawn’s spine. Gus couldn’t hear him. He had just been speaking to Shawn’s body, not his … Spirit or whatever the hell it was Shawn was. No one could see him. No one could hear him. This had to truly be hell.

*****

Carlton Lassiter stared at the paper in front of him. No matter how much he stared at it, he just couldn’t absorb the information. Shawn Spencer had been shot. The idiot had texted him to let him know he was on the way to catch the criminal and that he needed to get there quickly, signing it ‘H&Ks Shawn’.

From what they could tell at the scene, instead of waiting, Shawn had barged in on the murderer and had paid by getting shot and nearly bleeding out. The missing girl was dead and Shawn was ... Alive, at least.

A gentle hand on his shoulder snapped Lassiter out of his thoughts. Looking up, he found Chief Vick with a worried look on her face. “Go on home, Carlton. We’ve all had a long day …”

“Chief, with all due respect, we need to catch this murderer!”

“I know, but you’re not going to catch anyone staring at that piece of paper like its blank.”

“But—“

“No buts. Go home, Carlton,” She repeated gently.

Lassiter sighed, giving a nod. He knew there would be no point in trying to argue with her. Closing the folder, he grabbed his jacket, putting it on. Giving a small nod to the Chief, he ignored the looks he got as he headed back to his car. Slipping into his precious car, he paused as he saw the bag on his passenger seat. He should have just thrown it away, but for some reason, there it was. Opening the bag, he reached inside and pulled out the white shirt that was now stained red with Shawn’s blood. Lassiter shoved the fabric back inside as memories of Shawn’s blood coating his hands and clothes assaulted him.

He was definitely burning the bag later.

Driving back to his house, Lassiter ordered Chinese food and made himself a cup of tea, hoping that would help him to relax. Almost as soon as he sat down with his Chinese food when it arrived, his phone was ringing. Taking a deep breath, he opened it.

“Lassiter.”

“Carlton … “ Came another weary female voice, “How are you doing … ?”

“O’Hara,” He replied stiffly. “I’m fine. You?”

“I … No. I just keep seeing him there. I mean, what if we were … even five seconds later?!” Lassiter felt his throat tighten as his grip on his cell phone did as well. “Shawn … He … What if we lost him …”

“He’s alive, O’Hara. He’ll live. I’m sure by the end of the week, he’ll be back to barging in on our cases and being a pain in our asses.” Hearing the woman on the other end of the line give a soft laugh through tears, he felt his lips quirk up slightly.

“You’re right.”

“Damn right I’m right. Now, we owe it to Spencer to catch the son of a bitch who did this to him. I know it’s going to be tough and if you need a few days –“ Lassiter was cut off by Juliet sniffling.

“No. Absolutely not. You’re right. We owe it to Shawn to catch this guy and … Damnit we’re going to get him.”

At that, Lassiter couldn’t help but smile warmly. “That’s what I like to hear. I’ll see you at the station tomorrow?”

“Bright and early,” There was a quiet moment before the woman spoke again, “… Thank you, Carlton.”

Lassiter nodded although he knew that his Junior Detective couldn’t see. “Get some rest, O’Hara.”

Hanging up, he paused as he looked at the screen of his phone. Before he could stop himself, he had clicked on “MESSAGES”, selecting the one at the very top.

‘Bad Juju Lassie! Meet @ Warehouse 3A in 10 mins. Spirits say girl there. Race you! H&Ks Shawn.’

That idiot.

Clutching his phone tighter, he stood up. He needed to see Shawn. Needed to make sure he was okay. Sighing, he grabbed his jacket and within fifteen minutes found himself sitting in the parking lot of the hospital. He’d been here more times than he could count, so why was this so hard? It took another ten minutes before he found the courage to walk into the hospital.

After Shawn had been loaded into the ambulance, Lassiter had gone straight to the station to change into his spare suit. Guster had kept him updated, thankfully, but there was a big difference between texts or phone calls and seeing something with your own two eyes. Finding Shawn’s room with ease, he gave a nod to the officer outside the room.

“Mr. Guster left roughly thirty minutes ago,” the uniform responded.

Lassiter responded with another nod before slipping into the room, making a point not to look in the direction he knew Shawn’s bed would be. Closing the door behind him, he took a breath to steady himself before finally turning.

“What the … hell …” He said before he could stop himself.

Laying on the bed was exactly what he’d expected: Spencer in a coma, wires and tubes coming off of him. What he didn’t expect was Spencer standing next to his bed as well, slapping the unconscious form on the bed. At Lassiter’s voice, the second Shawn paused, looking over to Lassiter.

“Lassie? Can you see me?”

“… Oh no. No, no, no. This is some sort of joke. Very funny.”

“Dude! No way! Seriously?? You can see me!”

“Of course I can see you, Spencer! You’re right there!” He growled out.

Shawn’s face lit up like the Fourth of July. Jumping in place in victory, he grinned, “YES! Finally! Gus couldn’t see me or hear me and he definitely didn’t feel when I tried to punch him, which … Don’t tell him I did that, but I was trying to get his attention. But you! You can see me!”

Lassiter scowled, opening the door to the room, motioning for the officer to come in. “What do you see?” He growled out, grinding his teeth slightly.

The officer looked confused. “You? And … Mr. Spencer on the bed?”

“Anything else?” He pressed.

“Is … This a test?” The officer asked. “No, there’s you, Mr. Spencer, and all the usual hospital room equipment.”

“And there’s only one Spencer?”

“Sir, is everything okay?”

“Just answer the question!”

“Yes? He’s lying on the bed. Hasn’t moved since he arrived … I heard they’re going to try some tests tomorrow but—“

“Out. Go back to your post,” Lassiter ordered. Giving another confusing look, the officer gave another nod, figuring it was safer away from Lassiter. The detective closed the door behind the officer, glaring at the Shawn doppelganger.

“Oh Lassie … This is going to be fun. I didn’t know you could speak to spirits!”

Crap.

Chapter Text

Carlton found himself pacing before he could stop himself.  This was not happening to him.  No way.  What the hell did he do to deserve this?  Okay, well … He could probably think of a few things, but this was completely uncalled for!

“Lassifras … You’re gonna make me dizzy!”

“You!” He growled out, storming over to the ghost or just whatever the hell this Spencer was.  Sticking a finger in the fake psychic’s face, he watched as Shawn’s eyes crossed to follow his finger.  “I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, but cut it out now.”

Shawn gave an over exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes, bringing his hand up to try and push Lassiter’s out of the way, but only succeeding in his hand going through Lassiter’s.  At least the horrified look on the detective’s face as he watched the hand pass through was totally worth it.  “Don’t be lint on a Tootsie Pop.  I told you.  This isn’t a joke!  No one’s laughing!  And you know I’d be the first one laughing!  The spirits told me that Melissa Jones would be at that Warehouse, so I texted you and went …”

Carlton scowled, resuming his pacing. 

“And before I could stop that asshat who tried to kill me, he’d already killed Melissa.”  Shawn paused in his retelling of the story to frown at the memory.  Her screaming was what had made Shawn jump into action, he only wish he’d been able to be quicker.  “Then … He shot me,” Shawn said as if he were telling a secret.

That made Carlton freeze in place.  Glancing over to the ghost (at least, that’s how he decided to distinguish the Shawn speaking to him versus the unconscious one on the bed), the detective’s frown deepened.  Shawn remembered being shot and dying, or at least nearly dying.  Part of Carlton wanted to wrap his arms around the faux psychic detective and comfort him.  Stamping that idea down, he turned to face the male completely.

“Do you remember what he looked like? Have a name? Anything?” He asked, job training taking over.

Shawn made a humming noise as he thought, tapping his finger on his bottom lip.  “Caucasian.  He was about six foot, five.  Definitely worked out, he wasn’t a bean pole, but he wasn’t fat.  All muscle.  He was wearing all black, and was covered up so I didn’t see any distinguishing marks.  Even covered up his hair and wore sunglasses, which, really?  Sunglasses inside?  What a douchebag, am I right?”

“Spencer.”

“Right, right.  Sorry, Lass.  That’s all I’ve got for you.  He smelled like lilacs?  But that might have been Melissa’s perfume.”

Carlton nodded as he filed away the information.  At least he knew what he was looking for.  How he’d explain how he knew to the Chief and O’Hara, he wasn’t quite sure yet.  He’d be damned if he told them that he was having psychic visions.  Speaking of which …

“Just how the hell are you … Like this?” He asked, motioning towards the ghostly form.

Shawn looked down at his body as if he had to remind himself what he looked like.  “Lassie, Lassie, Bo-Bassy.  Sometimes when a person’s psychic ability is strong enough, they can experience what we in the supernatural world call an ‘out of body experience’.”  Lassiter gave a snort at the suggestion that Shawn was actually a psychic before the male continued.  “My body is alive … My spirit just isn’t in my body.”

“Well … Get back in!”

“I was trying to do that when you walked in!  It’s not just that easy!”

“You’re not trying hard enough!”

Shawn gave an over exaggerated sigh and flopped down across his body, “Lass, believe me.  If I could get back into my body, I would have already been in there.  I would already be home hangin’ out with Gus!  Tellin’ Henry that everything’s okay!  He’s probably already called my mom … They’re going to come here – well, Gus was already here – and I can’t talk to them.  They can’t see me.”  Sitting back up so that he could look at Lassiter, he continued, “You’re the only one who can see me.  The only person who can talk to me. When were you gonna tell me you were psychic, Lassie?”

“I’m not psychic!”

Shawn held his hand up to his head as if he were getting a vision, before speaking in a sing-songy voice, “That’s not what I’m sensing~”

Carlton scowled, “You’re not sensing anything! You’re not psychic!”

“Oh yeah? Then how do you explain this?”  The psychic waved his hand around, emphasizing his ghostly situation.

“I don’t—… “  He was at a loss for words.  “Obviously I’m sleep deprived.  That’s the answer.  I’m going home to sleep.”  That was the logical answer.  He needed sleep and since he’d been worried about Spencer ever since the attack, his mind was playing tricks on him.  Turning towards the door, he walked outside without so much as a farewell to the fake.

“Goodnight Head Detective,” the uniform watching the room said carefully, afraid of pissing off Lassiter anymore than he already had.

Turning, the farewell Carlton was about to deliver to the officer died on his lips when he saw Shawn standing next to the officer, outside of the door, silently following him.  “Oh no.  No, no, no,” Carlton started.  “You stay here. You are not following me home.”

The officer paused, looking around confused, speaking at the same time Shawn spoke.  “I-- … Sir?  Is everything okay?”

“Lass! Cmon!  I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

“Absolutely not!” Carlton growled, ignoring the confused officer as he glared at Spencer.  “Stay away from my house!”

“Uhm … Noted, Sir,” The officer said, looking terrified and confused.  Shawn opened his mouth to make a rebuttal, but Carlton had already turned and began to make his way home.

Once Carlton had finally arrived back home (alone, thank God), he poured himself a generous glass of scotch.  He deserved it after the hell of a day he had today.  There were far too many things swimming around in his mind and he was ready to drown them all in his alcohol and sleep.  He’d reset his mind for the morning when he’d double down on the Spencer case.

***

Groaning as his alarm rang loud in his ears, he turned over, slamming his hand on the ‘off’ button to silence the clock.  The dull throbbing in his head reminded him of just how much he drank and just how much he needed a nice, hot cup of coffee.  Carlton finally drug himself out of his bed after a few more minutes.  Sluggishly, he made his way through his living room and found himself in his kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

“I really hope you’re starting to cut back on those sugars and creams …”

Carlton froze before grabbing one of his hidden guns, aiming it at the form on the couch.  It took him a few more moments to realize just who he was staring at, “Spencer?  What the hell are you doing in my house?!”

Shawn’s face lit up once more as Lassiter put his gun back in its hiding spot.  “You’re getting slow in your old age,” He teased, watching as Lassiter tensed up at the comment.  “Any other time you would have noticed me sitting here forever ago!”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away?”

“And since when do I listen to what you say?”

Carlton looked at his coffee and strongly debated with himself on whether or not to add alcohol.  It was too damn early in the morning for this.  He hadn’t even had his shower yet.

“It was way too boring in the hospital.  Also, I’m pretty sure you terrified Officer Clark back there.”

He made a mental note to apologize to the officer, “That doesn’t give you permission to come into my house.  In fact, as I just mentioned, I distinctly remember telling you to stay the hell away.”

“I know, I know, you’re starting to sound like a skipping Human League record.  Cmon, Lassiface!  You’re telling me, you wouldn’t do the exact same thing if you were in my position?”

Carlton couldn’t argue against that.  Hell, as much as he knew the psychic thing was complete bullshit, Spencer would have probably been his first stop.  Once he knew that Spencer was the only person that could see or hear him, he would have been glued to the fake psychic’s side.

“Fine.  Then we’re going to set some ground rules, understand?  And you’re going to follow them, or so help me, Spencer, I will find an exorcist and have your ass sent back where it came from.”

“I’m not dead, Lassie … I don’t think an exorcist can—“

“Spencer,” Carlton growled out, ignoring the way Shawn seemed to shudder at that.  He’d figure that out later.

“Okay, okay.  Lay it on me.  Give me the run down.  What are Lassie’s rules?”  Shawn held his hands out, wiggling his fingers in a ‘come on, give me’ motion.

“One,” Carlton said, holding his finger up to emphasize his point, “You are not interfering with my work.  That means none of your usual crap.  It’s bad enough when you’re there and people can see you.  I don’t need to be put on leave because I’m dealing with someone who isn’t there.”

“But dude!  I’m right here!”

“I’m the only one who can see you!  Which means everyone else will think that I’m talking to someone who isn’t there.”  Holding up a second finger, he continued.  “Two.  I’m not passing along any messages.”

Shawn gave a long groan, “Laaaasssiiiieeee!  Now’s the time to harness your psychic powers!  Cmon, just once …” He paused to put his hand up to his head as if he was having a vision.  “Try it out.”

“Absolutely not. I stand by rule number two.  I’m not passing along messages.  I don’t even know what to do with the crap you told me about your attacker.”

“It’s so much easier if you just give in.  Let loose.  Play it by the seat of your parachute pants.”

“I think you mean ‘fly by the seat of your pants’.”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

Carlton let out an annoyed sigh, quietly counting to ten.  “You have not heard it both ways,” He grumbled through clenched teeth.  “Third, I can add to this list whenever I feel like it.”

“That’s not exactly comforting.  I don’t know if I can agree to those terms.  What if later on one of your rules is ‘extensive make out sessions’?”

“SPENCER,” Carlton said sharply, a mix of confusion and horror on his face.  “Do you agree to my terms?”

Shawn looked as if he was thinking it over for a few moments before responding.  “Yes.  Even the make out one.”

“That was not one of my terms!”

“Too late to take it back now!” Shawn said with a smirk.  “Aren’t you going to be late if you don’t hurry, Lassifras?”

Looking to the clock, he scowled before finishing off his coffee in a couple gulps, rushing off to get ready.  It was going to be one hell of a day and he just knew it. He only hoped he could make it through.

Chapter Text

Downing a couple Advil, Carlton pinched the bridge of his nose.  He was going to make sure that Spencer got back in his body and then kill him.  He knew that Spencer was going to be an ass but this was too much.  Shawn was taking full advantage of no one being able to see him and was currently standing by O’Hara’s desk, mimicking her voice in order to have an argument over which John Hughes movie was better.  He couldn’t focus like this.  Standing up quickly enough that it caught the attention of O’Hara, Spencer, and a few of the uniforms close by, he scowled, “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

Practically storming out, the detective decided to go for a walk.  Anything to clear his mind.  He had a murder and an attempted murder to figure out, along with this whole ghost Spencer thing.

“Carlton!” Came a voice that made him stop, sighing in annoyance.  So much for clearing his mind.  Turning at the sound of heels making their way down the sidewalk, he spotted O’Hara.  “Carlton …” She came to a pause in front of the detective.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, O’Hara.”

“I … I know it’s tough … With Shawn …” Oh she had no clue.  “If you wanted to talk …”

“No.  I’m fine, O’Hara.  Like I said on the phone, I’m sure Spencer will be back to butting his way into our cases by the end of the week.”  At least he hoped so. If he had to deal with the ghostly Spencer for much longer, he might go crazy.  Or at least, crazier than he thought he was already by seeing a ghost Spencer.  He was still expecting to wake up from this nightmare at any moment.

She smiled and Carlton noted how tired she looked.  Juliet clearly hadn’t had much sleep since she’d heard the news about Spencer.  He was sure that that was true for just about anyone close to the fake psychic.  This was probably when he was supposed to comfort her.  Awkwardly patting her shoulder, he gave her a tiny smile.  “We should … Hurry back and work on the case.”

Juliet nodded, patting Lassiter’s hand before she turned back.  The detective let her go ahead of him, giving himself a few extra minutes to try and clear his mind as he’d originally intended.  Once he was prepared for whatever idiotic rant Spencer was going to subject him to as soon as he was at his desk, he finally returned back to the station. 

Carlton paused when he returned to his desk.  Something was … Off.  It took him a moment to realize that Shawn had disappeared.  Maybe he’d gotten the hint that he was in direct violation of rule number one that Carlton had laid out this morning.  That, or he was off getting into some case he probably wasn’t supposed to be sticking his nose into.  Either way, the head detective was grateful for the peace, and sat at his desk, determined to try and figure out Shawn’s case using the description the specter had given him the night before.

It took a while for Carlton to realize it was just a little too quiet at the station without Shawn’s voice in the background.

***

He took back any and all thoughts he had ever had about how having an out of body experience would be cool.  This was practically torture.  No one could see him.  No one could hear him. Well, besides Lassiter.  He always thought that at the very least, Gus would be able to see and hear him.  Didn’t their connection run deep enough?  Now all of his witty comments were wasted on Lassiter, who wouldn’t even pass them on so everyone else could enjoy them!

This was suffocating.

Shawn was getting antsy.  He saw just how pissed Lassiter was and Shawn figured now would be a good time to give the head detective some space.  He couldn’t lose his one connection to the ‘living’ realm.  If Lassiter started ignoring him … Nope.  He wasn’t going to think about that.

And so he found himself wandering down the road towards the hospital.  Maybe it took twenty four hours before he could get back into his body or something.  What he wouldn’t give for a pineapple smoothie right now.

List of things to do once he got back in his body: 1) chew out Gus for clearly not believing in him enough to be his one ghostly phone call, 2) demand a lifetime supply of pineapple smoothies, 3) flirt with Lassiter more (and maybe even get a date! Or something that he would mentally call a date and Lassiter would call ‘dinner payment for suffering through the whole ghost deal’), and 4) … He’d figure that one out later.

Arriving at the hospital, he made his way back up to room 304, thankful that the room was empty for now.  Shawn moved to the side of his bed, staring down at his body.  Somehow this was weirder than last night.  Maybe he was in shock the night before.

He needed a haircut.  Just a trim.

Taking a deep breath, Shawn pumped himself up.  Okay, he could do this.  Jumping some in place to get himself psyched, he crawled in the bed, trying to lay himself over his physical body.  Alright!  Cool!  This was going to work!  Closing his eyes, he laid back completely, letting his spirit form sink into his real body.  After a moment, Shawn sat up abruptly, scowling when he realized he was still ghostly.  The fake psychic tried a couple more times before finally scrambling off the bed, glaring at his traitorous solid body.

Fuck.  This did not bode well.  Maybe he could get Lassiter to Google out of body experiences and he could read over his shoulder.  He wasn’t entirely sure that he could possess something since he wasn’t technically dead.  Lassiter would probably go with it if it meant that Shawn would be getting in his body sooner, right?

The fake psychic paused a moment as he heard voices coming towards the room.  Immediately, out of habit, he threw himself on the floor, hiding on the opposite side of the bed.  The door opened and from the floor, he could see a pair of women’s shoes and a pair of men’s.  He paused from his hiding spot as he heard a familiar female.

“Oh Goose …” 

Shawn swallowed the lump in his throat, poking his head over the side of the bed until he remembered that no one could see him.  Standing up, he saw his mother by his physical body, running her hand through his hair.  Great … He hadn’t seen her in three years and this is how their reunion happens. 

Henry stood behind her, looking exhausted, Shawn was sure that he probably hadn’t slept since he got the call.  “Shawn will be okay …” He said sighing before plopping down on one of the chairs within the room. 

Madeleine gave a weak laugh, wiping away tears that were forming in her eyes.  “I know …” Shawn’s chest tightened as he saw the scene before him.  He needed to solve this crime.  He needed to get the bad guy then get back in his body.

Looking at the two, Shawn frowned before heading out.  Find the bad guy. Get back in his body.  That had been the plan all along, but seeing his mom visiting redoubled his efforts.  He needed to get out of this hospital and find some clues.

***

Carlton closed his eyes, rubbing at them.  He’d been pouring over all the paperwork from the case and he wasn’t sure that he was any closer than they had been before.  Their suspect had been picking up women from the bar, leading them off to a separate location, murdering them, and then dropping them off the pier for them to wash up later, clean of evidence.  He was guessing that the ‘separate location’ the victims were murdered at was the warehouse that they had found Shawn.

The only witness they had was Shawn and what good did it do them?  Lassiter would rather keep hoards of squirrels as pets than try and play psychic and ‘divine’ the suspect’s description.  Maybe Spencer could possess a pencil and write it down.  Something.

As if being summoned (no, he was not psychic, dammit), Spencer came around the corner.  Carlton frowned as he pretended not to see the fake psychic.  Pretend he wasn’t there and that all is normal.  Just a normal day at the station, trying to solve the younger man’s attempted murder.  Nothing strange to see here.

“Lassidophilus!” Shawn chimed cheerfully, watching the way that Lassiter tensed and tried to pretend that Shawn wasn’t there.  “Look, I remember – Rule numero uno or something like that. But we’ve got to get on this case! The trail is going cold! Cmon, man!”

Looking around to make sure that no one was watching or eavesdropping, he grumbled under his breath, “I’m trying to work on it. Just how do you expect me to use your witness statement?”

“I told you, Lass!”  He said, holding his hand up to his head.

“I am not doing that,” Lassiter hissed.  “Can’t you possess a pencil?!  A phone?  Something?!”

Shawn shrugged a bit, “Not sure.  Never tried it.”

“Then do it,” Carlton growled, putting a pencil on a pad, nodding towards it.  He watched curiously as the fake psychic reached down, trying to grab the pen.  Just as it had done at the psych office with the door, his hand went straight through the pen and paper.  The head detective scowled.  “So some things are solid to you, like my couch, but some things your hand goes through?”

“I don’t make the out of body experience rules,” The psychic responded, shrugging nonchalantly.  “I can try possessing your hand …”

“Absolutely not,” Carlton said, a bit too loudly, earning him the attention of McNab who looked at him curiously before returning to his paperwork as Carlton hid his head in his hands.

Shawn gave the detective a devious smirk.  “How about this, Lassikins … We head over to the Psych office and do some research?  Somewhere we can talk way more easily and openly.  Unless you’ve been practicing your telepathy?” Shawn paused to give a fake, overly ridiculous gasp, “Lassie!  Have you been practicing?!”

Kill him now. 

Standing up without another word, Lassiter grabbed his suit jacket, leaving Shawn to look on confused as he tried to figure out what the head detective was doing.  Maybe he’d finally pushed him too far?  Nonsense.  Carlton disappeared for a moment into the Chief’s office to speak with her before finally heading out of the station, a curious fake psychic following after him.  Lassiter tried not to react as Shawn casually glided through the door and sat in the passenger seat. 

“Psych office?”  Shawn asked, a grin on his face once he realized what Lassiter was up to.  As soon as he got confirmation in the form of a stiff nod, the fake psychic fist pumped the air.  “Onward, Jeeves!”

“I am not your chauffer.”

“Well, you are chauffeuring me.  And we are going back to my place.  Okay, not technically my place, but we can definitely go back there once this whole not having a solid body thing is figured out,” Shawn said, wagging his brows at the head detective.

Carlton paused as he tried to process the comment, a faint blush gracing his cheeks as he caught just what the hell Spencer meant.  Focusing all his attention on the road and not how Spencer was staring at him as if he had a third head, he mentally chastised himself.  Why that one comment had gotten to him after so many flirtatious comments the fake psychic made, he had no clue.  He just needed to get through this case and get Spencer back into his body.

And definitely not for reasons that Spencer was insinuating.

Not at all.

Chapter Text

Shawn hummed as he walked through the door of Psych, already accustomed to walking through doors, “Mi casa es su casa, El Lassito.”

Lassiter paused outside the door, watching as Shawn walked through the door with some curiosity.  He wondered if Shawn could feel that at all.  Trying the door handle, he frowned as he found it locked.  “Spencer.  Not all of us can just walk through doors,” Carlton grumbled loud enough for Shawn to hear through the door.

“Oh.  Right.” A moment later, Shawn’s head stuck out from the door, making Lassiter jump slightly as he was caught off guard.  “Y’see that rock? Pick it up and there’s a key under there …”

Why was Carlton not surprised?  Looking to the obviously fake rock, he sighed and picked it up.  Opening the hidden slot, he unlocked the door and joined the fake psychic inside the office.  “You need to be more concerned about your security.  This rock is too obvious.  Anyone walking by will know its fake.”

“Now you sound like Gus.  You were right there and you didn’t notice, Mr. Head Detective,” Shawn said, a smirk on his face as he saw Lassiter’s pissed off expression.  “Anyways, it’s not like there’s really anything to steal here.  Oh!  Unless someone wanted to steal my Garbage Pail Kids cards …” Scrunching up his face, he moved to his desk to make sure they were still there.

Carlton rolled his eyes.  The detective moved over towards Gus’ desk, before Shawn ran across the room to block his path (as best as he could when people could walk through him).  “Nope!”

“What do you mean ‘nope’, Spencer?!  You wanted my help!  Guster’s desk looks cleaner than yours.”

“Yeah but its Gus’ desk! You’ll mess up his fang sway!”

“You mean feng shui?”

“Huh?  Then what am I thinking of?”  Shawn waved his hands dismissively, “Regardless, Gus would kill me if I used his laptop. Its ‘forbidden’ after Operation Ravenous Jungle Mammoth.” The fake psychic added quotation marks, using Gus’ words. 

“Operation what?  Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.  It’s a good thing you’re not the one using his laptop.”  Carlton simply walked around the ghostly figure (not entirely comfortable with the idea of walking through the spirit) before sitting at Gus’ desk against Shawn’s protests.  Turning on the computer, he pulled up the internet before typing ‘out of body experience’.  His eyes trailed over the websites that popped up, clicking on a few.  The head detective ignored the way that Shawn hovered over his shoulder, reading the pages that Carlton clicked on.  “I suppose you fall under the ‘near death experiences’ category … “

“Really?  I had no clue,” Shawn said in the most sarcastic voice he could manage. The head detective scowled at the psychic, but otherwise let the comment go.

“I still don’t understand why I’m the only one who can see you,” the detective said as he continued to scan through the pages.

“Maybe it’s the power of love?” Shawn said, giving Carlton a look that he hoped read ‘seduction’.  “I have it on good authority that it’s a curious thing.”

“And your ‘authority’ is Huey Lewis and the News?”

“Lassie!”  The fake psychic said, a happy grin plastered on his face as the detective got the reference.  “Don’t question my good authority.”

It took a long while of reading before Carlton sat back in the chair with an annoyed grunt.  “There’s nothing here about how to get you back into your body.”  He finally turned his full attention back to Spencer, who had wandered off to look about the office.  “And you’ve tried just … getting back in …?”

Shawn gave an overly exasperated sigh, “Yes Lassie!  It was the first thing I did – Okay, maybe not the first thing I did, but it was like the third thing I did when I got back.  Then I went there today, before I came back to the station, and tried it again.  No luck.”

Carlton closed his eyes as he tried to think of a solution.  Those websites hadn’t been very helpful.  Most of them said that Spencer should just be able to pop right back in to his body.  Clearly that wasn’t working so … What now?  What if Spencer could never get back into his body?  He felt a pang in his chest at the thought.

“Okay, let’s solve the case first and maybe … Somehow you’ll … I don’t know.  Poof back into your body,” Carlton said, trying not to feed too much into this magic nonsense.  It was harder when the ghostly proof was standing in front of you, waving his hand through a stress ball on his desk as he tried to pick it up.  “Tell me what you know about this case.”

Shawn’s head popped up, “It’s about time you asked!”  The fake psychic practically skipped over to his clear board, showing off his messy handwriting.  Carlton raised a brow as he looked over the information on the board.  There was at least the same amount of information that the SBPD had.  Shawn stood in front of the board as he looked it over, beginning to explain what he had written out.

“This guy is bad news.  Not quite Ted Bundy bad news, but more like Ricardo Caputo, so far.  I thought it was like our usual cases, y’know.  The ones where the bad guy kills two or three people … But now … I think we might have a bona fide serial killer on our hands soon enough,” He said with a small frown.  “I don’t know much about his description except what information I already gave you.”

Shawn pointed to one side of the board where he had vague descriptions written.  It took Lassiter a moment before he realized why they sounded so familiar: they were vague descriptions of the victims.  “All the victims were between 21 and 35. They were all alone, brunette, and wore little to no makeup or jewelry.  The first three were last seen at the same bar – Lickety Splits – and the fourth and fifth were last seen at Nina’s Gastropub.  They’re usually killed on a Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday when there’s less people at the bar, since neither of those bars has a taco Tuesday.  Then he murdered them at the warehouse and dumped them off the pier.”

“How did you know that our suspect was going to pick his next victim?”

Shawn shrugged a bit, his gaze still on the board as his hand moved up to his head in his classic psychic pose that made Lassiter roll his eyes, “The spirits told me that he worked in a pattern.  Three per bar, one bar for a week or so, however long it takes him to get his victims … So I decided to do a little undercover work and there was Melissa.  The psychic realm practically had a huge spirit arrow pointing at her.  I never got a good view of who she was with though.  Most of the description I gave you of the perp was what I saw with my third eye at the warehouse.  I barely managed to see her leave, so I tailed them.”

Carlton’s frowned deepened some, trying to ignore Spencer’s stupid psychic comments.  He knew the rest of the story.  If the murders continued for more than a month, it could become classified as a serial killer.  “So he’s going to move to a new bar.”

“Bingo.”

“We need to go through the security tapes of each of the nights the girls were taken and try and see if we can spot anyone matching the description you gave us on that tape.  As far as we know, you’re the only witness.”

“Which means, if he finds out that I’m still alive, he’s going to be sure to finish – ”

“I’m not letting that happen,” Carlton said before he could complete his sentence.

“Aw shucks Lassie …” the fake psychic said, his usual grin on his face.  “I heart you too.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes.  “You have a security detail outside your room 24/7 and we’ve kept your name out of the press.  Of course, when there isn’t news about your funeral, I’m sure he’ll figure it out, so we need to work fast.”  Carlton stood up before pausing.  “We still need to figure out how I got the suspect’s description from you.”

Shawn’s hand immediately began to rise to his head once more before Carlton snapped, “Not like that.”  Smiling, the fake psychic looked around the office a bit as he tried to think what their best course of action would be.  “I’ve got it!”  Shawn moved over to his laptop, pointing at it, “Use my computer, type up everything I say to a word document, then we’ll save it to my desktop and you can say you looked on my laptop for any clues or we can just print it out and say you found it on my desk.  Actually, that second idea is probably easier.”

Well, that actually wasn’t a terrible idea.  “Good work, Spencer,” Carlton said as he sat down at Shawn’s desk and turned on the laptop.  “How do you know where anything is in this mess heap?”

“It’s an organized mess.  I’m going more for that Ferris Bueller’s room look.”

Carlton supposed if he looked hard enough, Shawn was right.  The room reminded him of Shawn – a tornado of things and ideas where everything had its place (even if it invaded someone else’s space, like Guster’s) and made perfect sense to the psychic.  A clean, almost sterile, environment didn’t suit Shawn.  The thought reminded him just where Shawn’s physical body was and how wrong it was to be there.  As soon as the laptop finished booting up, he opened a word document and looked to Shawn for guidance on what to write.

“Okay, type up the descriptions of the victims,” Shawn said, pointing to the board he’d written on.  As Lassiter began to write it up as if it was a police report, the psychic rolled his eyes.  “Oh yeah, that’s exactly how I type.  Cmon Lass!  I email you every other day!  You should know how I type by now … I mean, really, just copy exactly what’s on the board.” 

“Now type what I say: spirits say suspect is—“ He tried not to laugh as Lassiter clearly had trouble writing that the spirits said anything to Shawn.  “Suspect is Caucasian. Roughly six foot five.  Works out—parenthesis Jim’s Gym question mark parenthesis. Probably wearing sunglasses inside ah—that’s ‘a’, ‘h’—la Corey Hart.”

“That’s Sunglasses at Night.”

“Just write it, Lassie.  Spirits say pattern: three bars, then new bar.  Alright, that should be enough … Just … Save it, then print it out and crumple it up some and say you found it on my desk.  Oh!  ‘Accidentally’ spill some pineapple smoothie on it.  We did that once, but with coffee.  Made it look more believable that my dad was the one who filled out the paperwork …”

That made Carlton curious.  He figured he’d be more surprised if Henry had ever actually signed anything for Shawn or if Shawn had just forged everything.  Once he figured out how to print from the laptop, he grabbed the paper off the printer and crumpled it.  Finding a half opened bag of some brand of cheese puffs, he got the cheese dust on his fingers before smudging the paper a bit with it.  “That should be enough …”

Shawn looked it over before his grin returned, “Perfect!  That should give you enough reason without telling everyone at the office, yet, that you’re a psychic!”

“I’m not a psychic.”

“Oh, then it’s the other reason?  The power of love?”

“No.”

“Then I’m running out of reasons, Lassie.”

Carlton let out another exasperated sigh.  He was starting to become too accustomed to it; well, to the whole thing, he supposed.  With Spencer like this, at least he had a connection to not only a witness, but to the fake psychic himself, instead of worrying about how he was doing in the hospital (contrary to popular belief, Carlton did care about Shawn).  If something happened to the ghost Spencer, he knew something would be happening to his physical body.  What he wanted most right now was to get Shawn back into his body (safely), then catch the son of a bitch who was on a murder spree.

“I have your description.  I’m heading back to the station to look through the tapes for anyone matching it.”

“I’ll come with!”

Carlton frowned slightly as he looked at the fake psychic, “Are you going to swear to uphold the rules like you were supposed to in the first place?”

Shawn held up his hand, giving the detective a salute, “Scout’s honor.”

“Were you even a scout?”

“Of course!  Have you met my dad?”

It did seem like something that Henry would put Shawn through. 

“Fine.  Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

“Man, I wish I could have some popcorn right about now.”

The two of them were sitting in the station’s video evidence review room; watching tapes from the nights each of the women were last seen.  Carlton knew that they originally had not seen the suspect Spencer described on the tapes because none of the women were seen leaving with someone on the tape, but with a description, they might be able to spot him now.

Shawn’s comment earned a frown from Carlton.  He knew this entire thing was hard on the fake psychic and Spencer’s immediate reaction was to joke around to deflect how he must have actually felt.  Now that he was sitting down, his mind began to wander.  He knew he should pay more attention to the screen, but he just couldn’t focus.  The head detective felt like he was on a boat in the middle of a storm—rising and falling with the rough waves. 

Carlton was not sure when it was that he started having feelings for the fake psychic, but he was sure it was something a bit more than just friends.  He knew that his pansexuality was something no one at the station probably knew; not that he kept it a secret, but his personal life was not something he tended to broadcast.  Most days, Carlton could barely stand the psychic and had come so close to using him for target practice. 

It was the other times, however, that endeared Spencer to Carlton.  Finding the bad guy meant just as much to the fake psychic as it did to the head detective and the way Shawn was able to figure out each case so easily both fascinated and infuriated him.

When he had gotten Shawn’s text, he didn’t think twice before jumping in his car to the fake psychic’s aid.  Once he had arrived and saw Shawn on the ground, he barely took in the scene to make sure it was clear before diving to the male’s side.  The wave in his mind was on the rise with panic.  His clothes (still in the bag, still needing to be burned) became coated with Shawn’s blood as he tried to stop the bleeding after he’d thanked God that Shawn was still alive.  After that, Lassiter had felt unhinged.  He’d barked orders at everyone, including O’Hara, who seemed to understand that he didn’t mean it personally. 

He never did apologize.  He’d put that on his to do list.

Even after he’d gone back to the station that night, he just couldn’t settle.  Everything was wrong.  Even though his mental boat was falling after finding the fake psychic at the scene and things had gone back to somewhat normal, he knew it was all wrong.  Shawn wasn’t supposed to end up in the hospital, tubes and wires coming off of him.  He should thank the Chief later; she had only meant well by sending him home.

Then, when Carlton had gone to the hospital, that’s when the wave he was on rose again.  To say he handled finding out he could see Shawn’s ghost well was probably nowhere close to the truth.  How are you supposed to prepare for something like that?  You just can’t.  He remembered how he had wanted to comfort the fake psychic when he heard that the male remembered being shot and how quickly he’d stamped out that feeling as he did every time it came up.

And then there was the suggestion that one of his rules include extensive make out sessions.  He was (mostly) used to Spencer’s flirting but that had not been something he’d expected.  Maybe it was just him, or some sort of hopeful wishing, but it seemed as if Shawn had ramped up his flirting.  The fake psychic flirted with everyone, it seemed; Carlton wasn’t anyone special.  Of course, he didn’t often see the fake psychic flinging himself onto other people and laying in their laps; that was reserved for Lassiter. 

How could he also forget that Shawn had invited him back to his place once he had a solid body?  What else could that be for?  Okay, well, that could mean anything, really.  Shawn could probably just want him over for a Knight Rider marathon or something equally as stupid and he was just reading too much into it.  If Shawn didn’t suspect Carlton’s feelings before, he was sure his reaction to his invitation had given enough of a clue that Shawn would run with it.  Maybe he just needed Shawn back in his body so he could have some sort of normalcy and pretend like his flirting had no affect on him.

Now … Now he was on the fall of the wave again.  He was finally growing accustomed (or as much as one could) to the ghostly Shawn.  He still wanted to know why the hell it was that he was the only one who could see Spencer and he was starting to wonder if Huey Lewis was correct.  Not that he loved Shawn, that was taking it way, way too far.  They were … At the very least friends.  Platonic love?  That still didn’t quite make sense.  If that had been true, Guster would have been the one to see Shawn.

Carlton closed his eyes and sighed.  He had to give up on ever thinking he was going to get an answer.

“You alright there, Lass?”

“I’m fine.  It’s just been a long day,” He explained.  “Have you seen anything?”

“Mmm … Psychically or …”

“Spencer, we both know you’re not a psychic.  You know I meant on the tape,” Carlton responded, waving his hand towards the television.

“You’d think this entire experience would prove to you that I am psychic, but no.  I haven’t seen him yet.  I’m hoping that he’s on the other tapes.  There’s a chance that he checked out the bar before hand and made a point to avoid the cameras.  In that case, we’ll probably be here forever trying to find him in older footage casing the place.”

Carlton seriously hoped it didn’t come down to that.

“Put in the next tape,” Shawn instructed, wiggling his ghostly fingers as if to emphasize the ‘I can’t touch anything’ point.

The head detective got up, stretching his legs a bit before swiping the next tape and putting it in the television.  Lassiter turned back to see Shawn looking a bit paler than usual.  “Spencer?”

“Something’s … wrong,” he said, hand clutching his chest.  “My chest is tight.  I—“

Carlton moved closer, pausing as Shawn’s form flickered in front of him.  “Spencer??”  He asked, moving until he was in front of the fake psychic, trying to grab at him.  “Shawn?!”

“Carl—“  Shawn started before his form disappeared completely.

The head detective paused for a moment, trying to take in the scene in front of him.  Something was wrong with Shawn.  Something was wrong with Shawn.  His blood ran cold as Lassiter ran out of the evidence room, ignoring the looks he got as he jumped into his car.  Without hesitation, he put his siren on as he rushed to the hospital.  He needed to get to Shawn’s body.

Shawn couldn’t die on him.

Lassiter took the stairs two at a time, to avoid using the slow elevator.  By the time he got to the third floor and found Spencer’s room, there was a flurry of doctors and nurses running in and out.  The officer at the door stopped him, “Detective Lassiter … Did -- … Did someone call you?”

“No.  Now move out the way.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t right now, sir.  Doctor’s orders.  You’ll just be in the way.”

Carlton scowled but he knew there was not much that he could do if he got in the room.  “What the hell is going on?”

The officer gave a small sigh and looked back towards Shawn’s room where things seemed to be calming down a bit.  “Shawn flat lined.  Everything was fine and then it just … wasn’t.  I think they’ve finally managed to stabilize him.  I didn’t know they called anyone though.”

“They didn’t.  At least, they didn’t call me.  Cop’s intuition.  I just felt like something was wrong.”

“Huh …” He said before shifting awkwardly as his superior stared at the room as if he was ready to murder whoever thought it would be okay for Shawn to flat line.  “He uhm … I’m sure they’ll clear the room for visitors soon … “

“That’s fine,” He said.  Carlton wasn’t sure if he could handle seeing a pale Spencer lying on the bed again.  But where was his ghost?  Shouldn’t he have popped back up?  “Call me if anything changes.”

“Of course, sir."

Running a hand through his hair, Lassiter walked down to his car and slumped down into the front seat, laying his forehead on the top of the steering wheel.  He felt like he weighed a thousand pounds.  It was late, he had no clue where Spencer’s ghost went, and he needed a stiff drink and sleep.  Carlton drove back to his house thinking about the mental wave he’d just rode and how he must have been on the backside of the wave again.

Opening the door to his home, he immediately froze as he saw Shawn standing in the living room, a bit off-kilter.  “Spencer …”

“Lassie!”  He said, throwing on his usual Shawn attitude.  He knew it had to be some sort of front; Shawn’s body language didn’t match his tone of voice.  “I don’t really know what happened but I disappeared then reappeared back at the station and you were gone.  I figured you eventually had to come home so, I thought it was safer if I just waited for you here.”

“… You flat lined at the hospital.”

Shawn was quiet as he tried to absorb the information.  After a moment he relaxed some and tried to play it all off.  “Well, that was a whole lot of not fun.  I guess I just … reappear wherever I last was?  Let’s hope that never happens again.”

“Agreed,” Carlton said, not commenting on the fact that Spencer had just let himself into his home.  Walking over to his liquor cabinet again, he poured himself a glass of scotch before pausing.  “… I’d offer you some but …”

Shawn’s lips quirked up in a familiar smirk, a silent thank you for giving him a way to just act like everything was okay.  “Thanks for offering to get me drunk, Lass~  I’m going to keep that in mind for when I get back into my body.  You can come over to my place if you bring the alcohol,” The fake psychic responded, winking.  Lassiter downed his drink, turning away from the psychic to hide the faint pink that graced his face. 

“I’m going to bed.  Don’t watch me sleep,” Lassiter said, knowing it would probably be something that Shawn would do, just to mess with him.  The head detective cleaned his glass before he gave the fake psychic a small wave, heading off to bed.  It had been a much longer day than he’d anticipated and the near heart attack he’d had when Shawn disappeared was enough for him to call it a day.

Chapter Text

Shawn had never actually promised to not watch Lassiter sleep.  Plus, what else was he going to do?  He’d already mostly gone through the head detective’s stuff (at least, what he could while he couldn’t actually touch anything) and he wasn’t that tired; he was getting there but he wasn’t quite there yet.  Which, normally, he would be questioning why a ghost could feel tired but he supposed he wasn’t technically a ghost; he still had a connection to his body, as his earlier ‘incident’ proved.  Soon enough, he poked his head into the head detective’s bedroom, listening to make sure that he was asleep before wandering in. 

Lassiter was shirtless, lying on his stomach, with the blankets pooled around his waist.  The fake psychic could only assume what he was wearing under the covers; he hoped it was nothing, but figured it was at least boxers, more likely pajama pants.  Shawn thought he was pretty obvious about his attraction to the lanky detective and he thought maybe (despite almost all actions otherwise) that Lassiter felt the same.  Of course, he’d never actually seen him with a guy before; he’d only seen Carlton flirting with women (not that that was really any definitive proof). 

Shawn had also caught Lassiter checking him out more than once, no matter what Gus said when Shawn brought it up (“You were probably imagining things—wishful thinking!” “No Gus, his eyes were on my ass!”).  The head detective wasn’t as stealthy as he thought he was, if he even realized he was doing it, when Shawn leaned over to pick up a pen that the fake psychic had ‘conveniently’ dropped.

Shawn was pretty confident that Lassiter had taken the whole stern bush suggestion he’d made to heart, which thrilled him.  He wasn’t convinced that Lassiter was entirely sure of just how smokin’ hot he was to Shawn.  The stern bush, the eyes, the rolled up sleeves showing off his forearms, the holster, the demand for justice; it all sent a shudder through the psychic.

He had definitely amped up his flirting, being blatantly obvious about what he wanted with Lassiter, and he thought it was finally getting through to him.  He’d finally caught the detective blushing and it took everything in him not to do a victory dance right then and there.  Maybe if his crush wasn’t the only one who could see him he would have done it and not been afraid of the silent treatment he might have received afterwards.  Hell, Carlton didn’t even kick him out of his place or yell at him about just showing up tonight!  That was certainly a step in the right direction. 

Okay, he was probably in super creep mode, watching Lassiter sleep, but the guy looked so peaceful.  It was nice to see him relaxed, without the grumpy or exhausted face he’d seen plastered on all day.  With a smile on his face, he slipped out of the room, going to the couch to plop down. 

He had way too many questions and not enough answers about this entire thing.

First thing was first, he needed sleep.  Apparently dying did a number on one’s psychic form and his exhaustion was finally hitting him full force now that he was lying down.  Who knew?  Tomorrow.  Tomorrow he was definitely going to get to the bottom of this.  Maybe it was his brush with death earlier but he suddenly felt like he was running out of time.

If this was the last case that Shawn was able to solve before he died, then so be it, but he was going to take his murderer down at the same time.

Okay, scratch that.  He was positive it was his brush with death earlier that made him feel as though he was running out of time.  There was just this lingering feeling that the next time he vanished in front of Lassiter, he wasn’t coming back.  Shawn should probably tell Lassiter about where to find his funeral plans and the disc that was supposed to be delivered to the head detective after he died now that he had the chance.  Maybe that was one reason he hadn’t quite died a couple days ago.  Why else would the universe tease him with letting his crush be the only one who could see him?  With thoughts of how he felt his time was running out weighing heavy on his mind, Shawn fell asleep.

When the fake psychic woke the next day, he realized he had slept most of the day away.  It was just after noon and Lassiter had already gone off to the station hours ago.  With nothing else to do, and determined to figure this case out as soon as possible before anyone else died (including himself), he set out to join the head detective.

By the time that Shawn had made his way to the station, he found Lassiter and Juliet hovering over a file on the head detective's desk.  Lassiter looked up once he realized he had eyes on him and gave a familiar, "Spencer," in acknowledgement he was there.  Shawn froze.  It seemed that Carlton realized exactly what he'd done at the same time Shawn did and tensed as Juliet looked around to try and find a body that wasn’t there.

"Carlton?"  Juliet asked her partner cautiously.

Oh crap.  Either he could admit the truth--that Shawn was standing five feet away, looking equally as horrified (surprisingly)--or go with the easy out.  "If only Spencer was here, we'd probably be able to get more information psychically."

Okay, so, admitting in any way that Spencer was a psychic was probably extremely suspicious (especially considering the way his partner was eyeing him currently), but it was a far better route than admitting he was the psychic one, currently seeing ghosts.

"Shawn would have loved to hear you admit he has a gift."

"Oh trust me, Jules, I do," Shawn said, smug grin on his face.

"I didn't say he has a gift, but if whatever the hell it is he does could get us results, I'll take it."

“You have to admit … Shawn does deliver results using his gift … And how else could he have gotten this information?” Juliet said, holding up the crumpled paper that Shawn recognized as the one Lassiter had printed off.

“I don’t have to admit anything.  He’s good at … something,” Being distracting was probably on the top of Carlton’s list, “But he’s definitely not a psychic.”

Shawn gave a small huff that earned the head detective’s attention again.  He held up his hand to his temple again as Lassiter shook his head, hoping that the action looked more as if he was clearing his mind than saying ‘no’ to a body that wasn’t there.

“Well, at least this information paid off.  We were able to find a guy matching this description on the tapes.  I mean, he’s briefly there, but we can see him at times.  He must have thought he was outside of the camera’s radius,” Juliet said with a small smile.  “Hopefully we can find someone in the database matching his description and the sketch artist’s drawing ...”

His partner had stopped speaking, but he knew how the sentence finished.  ‘Before he kills someone else.’  “There’s no hopefully; we will,” Carlton said firmly.

Juliet opened her mouth to say something before pausing.  “Gus?”  She asked, looking past where Shawn stood. 

Carlton looked up and towards the psychic’s best friend, who looked as if he still hadn’t slept.  Gus gave a weak, amicable smile to the two, walking past Shawn.  “I uhm … Did you hear about Shawn?”

Juliet nodded, reaching out and placing her hand on his arm in order to comfort the male, “We heard … How are you holding up?”

“About as well as one could, I suppose.  At least he’s stable again.  Any closer to finding the asshole who did this?”

Carlton crossed his arms over his chest; nodding as he tried to ignore the heartbroken look on Shawn’s face (he should never look sad.  Ever.), “I went to the Psych office and found a note from Spencer.  The ‘spirits’ supposedly gave him a description of the suspect.”

Gus tried to look angry at Lassiter, but it came out as somewhere between angry and exhausted, “Isn’t that called breaking and entering?”

“Not if you have the key.  Also, Spencer invited me in.”  That earned a confused look from Juliet and Gus.  “A while back.  He told me I was welcome over any time.  I believe his words were ‘Mi casa es su casa’.”

At this, Gus couldn’t help a small laugh, “That’s Shawn alright.”

The whole scene was almost too much for Lassiter.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen Shawn so sad and all he wanted to do was comfort him.  It was like the previous night when he saw Shawn right after he had flat lined.  There was also a sense of impending doom in the air and he had a feeling it had something to do with the previous night’s incident.  It took the fake psychic a moment to get Carlton’s attention.

“Tell Gus you found something else.  I need you to tell Gus to check the sixth floorboard from the lockers.  I left something under there for him.”

How was Lassiter supposed to say no?  He knew that passing on messages was against his own rules but when Shawn looked at him like that … There was no way he could deny him.  He sighed, “I found another note while I was there.”  That seemed to get their attention.  “It was in the trash and scribbled out a few times so I thought there wasn’t anything to it but uh … It said for you to check the sixth floorboard from the lockers?  It was old, crossed out, and all ripped up, so I figured it was nothing.  It didn’t look like anything that would help with this case.  It looked like he was trying to write you a letter but couldn’t figure out how to say it.  I threw it out since the trash didn’t actually have any relevant information and it smelled like something was rotting in there.  Maybe it means something to you?”

Gus looked a little confused before shaking his head.  “Doesn’t make any sense to me.  I guess -- … I should probably head over and see what it is.  If it actually turns out to be something, I’ll be sure to let you guys know.  Thanks, Lassiter.”

“Of course, Guster.”

Gus said his farewells as he finally headed out of the station with Juliet watching after him.  Once he was out of sight, the woman turned back to Lassiter, “I’m going to try and see what else I can dig up about our mystery suspect.  Maybe find out more about the bars he might frequent.”  Lassiter nodded in approval as she walked off quickly.

Turning his attention back to the ghost, he frowned as he caught sight of that same look that had been on Shawn’s face almost all day and part of the previous night.  Catching his attention, Lassiter twitched his head in a ‘follow me’ way.  He led the ghost off to a secluded records room that was barely used anymore.  Making sure the coast was clear, he locked them inside and turned to Shawn.

“What’s wrong.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, Lassie Pants.”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.  You’ve had this … This …” Carlton paused, waving his hand in Shawn’s face.  “Look all day.  Like, this is the last time you’re going to see everyone and you’re trying to figure out how to say your goodbyes.”

“Well, I guess that’s not too far off.”

And that comment cuts Carlton deeper than any bullet he’d ever take. 

“What are you talking about?” He asked, mouth dry.  “You’re not running off …”

Shawn can’t help but look away.  “Not running off per say.”  And maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.  “I’ve just had this feeling … Ever since yesterday that I’m running out of time.  That the next time I disappear, I’m not going to reappear where I was … I’ll just be … gone.  Forever.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that.  If my body gives up then there’s nothing anyone can do.  Trust me … It’s not my time to go.  I haven’t even gotten to perform with Tears for Fears yet!”  Shawn said, a sad whine to his voice.

Carlton felt his chest tighten.  He knew that Spencer was right.  If the fake psychic disappeared, there was nothing he could do.  There was not even a guarantee that by the time he got to the hospital that Shawn would be alive.  All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around the psychic and protect him.  The head detective could protect him from a lot, but not from death, not like this.

“We’re going to find him.  We’re going to get you back in your body.”

“Lass.  I appreciate the sentiment, but just because we solve the case and get the bad guy doesn’t guarantee I suddenly pop back in to my body.  I could be stuck like this forever until they take off life support for all we know.”

Shawn looked so sure that this was it—that he was going to die—that for a brief moment, Carlton almost thought that he was psychic and all of this ‘what if’ was to weaken the blow.  The fake psychic wasn’t going to die.  Carlton hadn’t even gotten the chance to take him out on a proper date.

Oh fuck.  His mind had gone there.  His mind had so gone there.  He blamed getting lost in thought the previous day in the evidence room and Shawn’s flirting. 

“Shawn,” Carlton started, and the use of his first name seemed to get the fake psychic’s attention, “I will do everything in my power to not only catch this suspect and bring him to justice, but I will do everything I can in order to get you back into your body.  I don’t intend on you dying under my watch any time soon.”

The sincerity and conviction with which Lassiter spoke put a smile on Shawn’s face.  He knew that the head detective would probably never admit to liking him and that had been as close as he was going to get.  “Thanks Lass … I heart you too,” He said, mimicking what he’d said before, earning a genuine smile from Lassiter.

He hoped that he could live up to the head detective’s expectations.  No guarantees.

Chapter Text

Since their pow wow in the records room, the trio had been working hard (even if Juliet had no clue Shawn was helping) and they were starting to see light at the end of the tunnel.  The fake psychic had approved of the sketch artist’s picture and they had narrowed the bars that he was likely to hit down to three.

They were so close he could almost taste the pineapple smoothie of victory.

It was after dinner (some greasy Chinese takeout near the station) that Juliet came running over to Carlton’s desk, a bright smile on her face.  “We found him!”

“What?”  He asked, head snapping up.

“Dimitri Owens,” She said excitedly, flipping a picture out of a folder, placing it on Carlton’s desk so he could see.  Shawn leaned over the head detective’s shoulder, looking at the picture before frowning.  “He got to Santa Barbara about three months ago.  He’s been moving from hotel to hotel weekly until right after he attacked Shawn.  He just … disappeared.  Checked out of his hotel that night and returned his rental car.  He’s in the wind right now.”

Carlton looked back casually over his shoulder as if he was looking around to see if anyone had overheard them, but really just checking what the fake psychic behind him had to say.

“I think that could be him … I mean, it looks like him if you put sunglasses and a hood on.” He paused, closing one eye and holding his hands up to cover the upper portion of his face in thought.  “If I heard him speak, I could tell you for sure.” Shawn said with a frown on his face.

The head detective’s attention focused on his partner once she continued when Carlton turned back to her, “We have an APB out for him.  We’ve also got a couple of undercover guys at the three bars we have it narrowed down to.”

“Good job, O’Hara,” Lassiter said with a small smile.  The woman gave a pleased nod before moving off to try and get all of their evidence ready for when they had caught the suspect.

Carlton focused on making scribbles on a piece of paper as if he was writing.  “We’ve almost got him.  Hopefully … That’ll help you get back into your body,” He said quietly, knowing that Spencer would be able to hear him where he stood.

“And then we’re definitely going on a pineapple smoothie date, right?”  Shawn asked with a grin.  Part of him wanted to break the tension in the air and what better way than to openly flirt with his favorite head detective?  The other part of him was curious as to whether or not Lassiter would take the bait.

Carlton tensed, hand curling around the pen he held tightly.  It was times like this that the head detective sincerely wondered if Shawn was a psychic.  How else would he have known about the ‘he hadn’t taken Shawn out on a proper date’ thought that had crossed his mind earlier?  There was no explanation for it.  “Sure,” He found himself saying, ignoring the way that the fake psychic actually seemed to be caught off guard. 

Shit. 

Shawn had just been messing with him again and hadn’t expected Lassiter to agree to the date, right?  Carlton just had to think of a snappy comeback.  “We can go on a pineapple smoothie date the day that I vote Democrat.”  Thankfully, that seemed to be the more appropriate answer that the fake psychic was looking for, and Lassiter relaxed.

Until Shawn spoke again.

“I didn’t know that you swung for both teams, Lass!”

Well, he didn’t try to keep it a secret and he wasn’t ashamed of it; just no one had asked or confronted him about it before.  Once again, Shawn had gotten into his head, like the psychic he claimed to be.  Lassiter opened his mouth to reply before the other male continued.

“I mean, voting Republican and Democrat?  Do you just switch every four years?  Does it depend on their platforms?”  Shawn asked with a knowing smirk on his face.

The little shit.  He took back every nice thing he’d thought of the fake psychic.

“You know damn well, Spencer, that I would never vote Democrat.  That was a way to tell you no, we will not be going on a pineapple smoothie date.”  Maybe just a real date at a nice restaurant.  One where Shawn would have to wear a blazer and a shirt that had actually seen an iron.

Just like that, everything was back to normal.  Or, as normal as things around Shawn Spencer ever got.

By the time late afternoon had turned into evening, Carlton was ready to go home.  It had been a long and busy day with ups and downs and Lassiter wanted a stiff drink and a hot shower.  Shawn had reverted back to his usual playful, flirting self although the head detective could tell that it was a bit more reserved than usual, probably due to the entire ‘running out of time’ talk.

A folder dropping onto his desk brought him out of his thoughts.

“How did you know this was there, Lassiter?”

“What?”  He asked, looking up to see Guster standing on the other side of his desk, eyes a bit red as if he’d been crying.

“This!  This is what I found in the floor!”  Gus opened it, putting a disc that said ‘For My Lassie’ with hearts in Shawn’s handwriting to the side, showing off printed off sheets.  “Its … Instructions.”

“Instructions?”

“For Shawn’s funeral.”

That makes Carlton’s mouth go dry.  He looked over to Shawn, not caring if it was obvious he was looking at ‘nothing’.  The fake psychic avoided his gaze.  The male frowned and turned his attention back to Gus, who barely seemed to be holding it together again.

“I told you … I just found a note.  Maybe Spencer was trying to figure out how to tell you where that was but he couldn’t figure out how to write it …”

“Why would he write something like this??”

Carlton picked up the disc that had his name on it, fingers sliding up and down the case absentmindedly as he looked over the handwriting.  “Think about just how many times Spencer has put himself in danger.  Maybe he wanted to make sure that everything was … taken care of.  That’s what I’d do.”

But Shawn wasn’t him.

“You can have that,” Gus said, all fight leaving him.  “It’s addressed to you.”

Lassiter frowned as he looked over the disc.  It could be so easy to just watch it now.  He nodded, placing it in his desk, ignoring how Shawn’s eyes followed the movement.  “Thank you, Guster …”

“You wouldn’t thank me if you knew what he requested from you for his funeral,” He said, with a sad smile, scooping up the papers before Lassiter could read them.  “I should … I should go …”

“If you need anything, Guster …”  Carlton said, trying to reassure the other.

“I’ll call.”

The head detective gave a nod.  “Try and get some rest?  I know it’s tough …”

Gus gave a small laugh and nod before finally heading out.  Carlton turned towards Shawn who was still actively avoiding his gaze.  He sighed and stood, “Let’s go home.”

He wasn’t sure when his home became ‘home’ for both of them, but there it was.  The fake psychic seemed to realize that not only was the head detective not yelling at him about the whole ‘my Lassie’ thing, he was inviting him home.

Inviting him.  Home.

Shawn stood dumbfounded for a moment, leaving Carlton to shrug and head out without him.  Once the fake psychic’s brain caught up with him, he ran after Lassiter, hopping in his car.  “Home, Jeeves!”

“Didn’t I tell you before that I wasn’t your chauffer?  Why are you still calling me that?”

“You’re right.  Getting old,” Shawn hummed in thought.  “Take me to the well, Lassie!”

The head detective groaned.  If he could physically kick the ghost out of the car, he absolutely would have.  Driving them back to his home, he finally visibly relaxed.  Pouring himself a drink, he turned on the television to relax for the rest of the evening, flipping through the channels until he found an episode of COPS.

Shawn had found himself sprawled out on Lassiter’s couch, silently watching the head detective.  “Alright!  Let’s play Truth or Truth.”

An exhausted Carlton glanced over at Shawn.  “Isn’t it Truth or Dare?”

“Yeah, but it’d be unfair for me to do any dares when a) I can’t touch anything and b) No one can see me.  So … Just truth!”

Somehow he knew that he would regret this but, really, Spencer would probably pester him nonstop until he finally gave in.  “Only if I go first.”

Lassie was so predictable, Shawn thought.  He pretended to think it over before nodding, “Shoot.”

“Are you really a psychic?”

“Oh Lassie … Wasting a question on that?  I am totally psychic.  My turn,” He said with a smirk that almost made Carlton worried.  “Do you really swing for both teams?  And I don’t mean Republicans and Democrats.”

There was the question he thought was coming.  Lassiter shrugged as he sipped at his alcohol.  “It’s not a secret I do.  I don’t really care what my partner identifies as.”

“I never would have guessed,” Shawn said, earning a snort from Carlton.

“Like I said, it’s not a secret.”  The head detective paused as he tried to think of his next question for Shawn.  “… If you weren’t a psychic … How would you solve our past cases?”

Okay, well … Shawn had to admit that was a good question.  It couldn’t really hurt to answer it; he wasn’t exactly admitting he was fake.

“I guess that if someone—not me, obviously—wanted to solve cases like we do, they’d have to have exceptional observational skills, possibly eidetic memory.  It would probably also help if they had an extremely high IQ … I’m talking genius-level.  They’d also need fantastic deductive skills.  Put all these things together, and you’ve got someone who can see things that you guys normally miss and can make connections quicker, even when they’re kind of out of left field.”

“So you’re saying that you just notice things that we don’t?  And that’s how you pretend to be a psychic?”

“I didn’t say that’s what I did, Lassie.  I said that if someone, not me, wanted to, that’s probably what they’d have to do.  I’m totally psychic.  Remember?  Ghost,” He said, motioning to his body as if that should be proof enough.

That was not proof enough for Carlton.  At least he knew what Spencer must be doing to one up them.  All they had to do was look harder than he did at things!  Also … Was he really a genius?  That part had to have been a lie.  There was no way that Shawn Spencer was a genius.

“Just how many guys have you been with?”  Shawn asked as Carlton rolled his eyes.

“Why the sudden interest in my love life?”

“It’s not your turn to ask questions, Lassie.”

The head detective groaned in annoyance.  Why was he even playing this game anymore? “Two.”

“Just two?  I would think that you could walk in a gay bar and get any guy you wanted in there.”

“I’m not interested in drunken hook ups, Spencer.”

“Fair enough.”

Carlton fixed his eyes on the fake psychic, watching him for a moment for any signs the other was lying before finally asking, “Are you purposely flirting with me?”

Shawn opened his mouth to answer before Lassiter’s phone went off.  Damn it all.  He was so close to getting answers!  Scowling, he flipped it open, practically growling, “Lassiter.”

“We found him, Carlton.  Our undercover guys who were at the Mighty Egg Bar saw Dimitri Owens and are tailing him back to wherever it is he’s staying,” Juliet said, a bit out of breath.  Lassiter could hear her getting into her car.

“I’m on my way.”

Carlton was on his feet in no time, grabbing his holster and throwing his shoes back on before glancing back to the fake psychic.  “They’ve found him.  Let’s go.  I need your confirmation.”

He’d just have to wait to get his answer from Shawn.  They had a murderer to catch.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long for Lassiter to get the call over the radio that the suspect was at the Rose Grove Hotel.  The undercover officers had tailed him there and were positive that he’d been staying there since he disappeared from their radar after nearly killing Shawn.  They had already spoken to the front desk and got the information that the suspect, now going under the name ‘Christian Nykvist’, was staying in a corner room on the second floor.

“He’s gonna run, Lassie.  Let Jules and the undercover guys go up.  You and I should hang out around back.”

“He’s on the second floor, Spencer.”

“Trust me.  He’s gonna run.  He probably picked a good spot that he could jump the window and not break anything.  There’s no way that he doesn’t know that he’s been followed.  SBPD’s undercover guys are good, but this guy has been one step ahead of us, including you and I, almost from the start.”

“And just what are you going to do?  You can’t exactly catch him.”

“No but I can follow him and look dashing as I do it.”

Carlton’s hands tightened on the wheel.  Part of him knew that Shawn was probably right, but it wasn’t how things were done.  Fuck it.  Whatever it took to take this guy down.  Calling Juliet, he told her the plan—she would take the undercover guys up and he would cover their rear.  He called it a ‘hunch’ that something might happen and that’s why he’d have to keep an eye out.

Once they arrived, Carlton parked out of sight.  On foot, he quietly made his way around the hotel, spotting the room that their suspect was in.

Or rather, was supposed to be in.  The wide open window and silhouetted figure running towards the woods didn’t bode well.  Underneath the window had been a small roof that covered a porch on the first floor which made the drop from the second floor much easier, just as Shawn had guessed.

“Told you!” Spencer called out as he ran after the figure, leaving Carlton behind.

Gathering his thoughts, Carlton grabbed his phone, calling Juliet as he ran after the ghost and their possible suspect.  “Headed towards the woods on foot!” He called out, slamming the phone closed as he shoved it back into his pocket.

Thank God for his workouts, even if he’d been putting it off the past week or so because of this case.  He briefly wondered if Shawn tired out from running as a ghost; if he did, he didn’t act like it.  Lassiter could hear Juliet and the other officers finally entering the woods by the time he started to catch up to Shawn and the suspect.  Swallowing thickly to prepare himself, when he got close enough, the head detective dove for the suspect.

Carlton hit the ground hard, Dimitri breaking his fall somewhat.  He flipped the male over, who growled out, “You’ve got the wrong guy!”

Shawn panted as he stopped next to Carlton.  “No … That’s definitely the right guy.  I bet if you search his hotel room, you’ll probably find some sort of trophies from his victims …”

“If you were innocent, there would be no reason for you to run,” He grumbled.  The head detective nodded at Shawn’s comment as he got up, forcing Dimitri to get up as well, slapping handcuffs on him.  “You have the right to remain silent …”

“Fuck off!” Dimitri snapped.  Carlton simply rolled his eyes and continued reading off the male’s rights.  As he finished, he paused, seeing Shawn look just as pale and sickly as he had the previous night.

“Spencer?”  He asked, not caring if anyone saw him.  He needed to make sure Shawn was okay.

“Lass … I think … I don’t think things are right … It feels like the other night,” He said, panic seeping into his voice.  He licked his lips and gave a weak laugh, “I don’t think we’re going to get to go on that pineapple smoothie date, Carlton.”

And oh did that hurt.  As much as he loved hearing his first name on Shawn’s lips, he knew the reason for it and it made his heart drop.

“You’re not dying Shawn!”  He hissed out, ignoring the confused look on the suspect’s face.  Shawn laughed, sad and humorless.

“I’m sorry, Lassie.”

Then, Shawn was gone.  Just like before. He could feel his heart stop.  Everything would be okay, he tried to tell himself.  Shawn would show back up.  He’d be right here any minute now. 

Any minute now.

Juliet showed up first, panting a bit as she smiled brightly.  “Great job, Carlton!  The guys can take him back.  Back up should be here already.”

Carlton nodded absentmindedly, still looking around for any signs of Shawn.  Juliet frowned as she reached out, gently touching the head detective’s arm.  “Carlton?”

“I … Yeah,” He said, trying to keep a level head.  “I’m going to check around here … Make sure he didn’t drop any evidence.”

Juliet seemed to accept this as an answer, giving a nod as she dug out a few evidence bags from her blazer, handing them to Carlton just in case.  He took them with a ‘thanks’ and let her leave.  Just a few more minutes … Shawn should be back any time …

Seconds seem to stretch on forever until finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.  He needed to get back to the hospital.  If he was lucky enough, he’d get there before Shawn really …

No, he couldn’t think that way.  Lassiter took off, running back towards his car.  He saw Juliet running towards him.  “Carlton!  It’s Shawn!”

“I know!  I’m on my way!”

If the window to his car had been open, he no doubt would have jumped in through the window.  He wasn’t wasting any more time.  Juliet could handle Dimitri Owens.  He had to get to Shawn; she would understand.  Putting his siren on once again, he peeled off, speeding towards the hospital. 

Shawn hadn’t reappeared.  It was just like he’d said—he was going to disappear and never reappear.

He wasn’t going to get that romantic date night.

Making it to the hospital in record time, he came to a stop with squealing tires, parking over three spots.  Carlton jumped out of the car and ran towards the front doors where a security guard tried to block his way.  “Sir.  Calm down, sir.”

“Get the hell out of my way,” He growled, flashing his badge.  “SBPD.”

That seemed to be enough for the guard who backed off, letting the head detective run up the stairs as he did the last time this had occurred.  Bursting through the door that led to the third floor, he rushed towards room 304, ignoring the déjà vu that struck him hard. 

McNab stood at the door to Shawn’s room, holding up his hands to stop Carlton from rushing in.  “A-Ah … Detective Lassiter … I can’t let you in just yet … The doctors are finishing up inside.”

Oh god.  He’d been far too late.  He knew he should have rushed immediately to the hospital.

McNab watched as all color drained from Lassiter’s face.  “Do you need to sit down sir?”  He asked cautiously.  “It shouldn’t take too long … They’ll finish up and I’m sure you’ll be let right in.  Mr. and Mrs. Spencer are inside already.  I’m pretty sure that Gus is on his way …”

“I’m fine …” Carlton said, voice a betraying him by shaking slightly.  McNab looked conflicted, unsure whether he should get the head detective some water, a chair, or … Really, anything that would help stop the male from looking as if he was about to pass out.

Finally, a slew of doctors emerged, all talking amongst themselves.  He’d done this time and time again and it never made it any easier.  He’d spoken with parents of murder victims all the time but no one so close to him.  He wasn’t sure if he would be able to look Henry in the eye.  Lassiter took a deep breath, trying to ready himself for one of the worst parts of the job.  Cautiously, Carlton poked his head in.

“Lassie Face!”

The voice was hoarse but by god, it was a voice.  There was Shawn, sitting up, leaning back against the bed.  He looked as if he’d been hit by a car (or nearly murdered and in a coma for the past few days), but he was alive.  Alive.  Carlton could cry.

Madeleine looked between the two before giving a small, knowing smile.  “C’mon Henry … I’m sure Detective Lassiter would like a few minutes with Shawn.”  She stood, kissing Shawn’s forehead with a quiet ‘Love you, Goose’ and headed out.  Henry followed behind her after giving Shawn’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.  The door closed behind them and Lassiter cautiously moved to sit on one of the chairs next to the bed.

“Sorry I’ve been sleeping for a few days.  I’m sure you were nearly bored to death.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Hmm?  I remember almost dying …”

Carlton wasn’t sure if he should be ecstatic or disappointed.  He’d never accounted for what would happen if Shawn woke up with no memory of being a ghost and tormenting him.  How would he explain the evidence he ‘found’ that Shawn would no doubt deny writing?  How would he explain knowing about the floorboard that contained the fake psychic’s last requests and the disc with his name on it?

“I also remember you saying you definitely swung both ways and next election is your Democrat year.”

The head detective stared at Shawn for a moment as the fake psychic smirked.  Relief flooded the detective as he tried to pretend to be angry, unable to really muster the anger he should have felt, “You know damn well I would never vote Democrat, Spencer.”

“I also distinctly remember that you said you’d take me on a pineapple smoothie date.”

“How about going to The Vine?  I hear they have the best pineapple upside down cake in the state.”

“It’s a date.”

Chapter Text

One Year Later …

“Shawn!  Damn it!  Why do all of my ties have miniature pineapples on them?”

Shawn grinned as he poked his head into their bedroom.  “What?  I thought you needed a wardrobe upgrade.  Trust me, some of those ties should have been burned long, long ago.”

“You burned my ties?!”

“Only the ones that deserved it.”

Carlton let out an annoyed breath, counting to ten, before putting on the least horrendous of the pineapple ties.  As he turned, Shawn’s face lit up.  “That looks even better on you than I expected!”  The head detective looked down at the tie, running a hand over it to smooth it down his front.  He supposed that it wasn’t too bad, especially if Shawn loved it so much.  The pineapples looked more like small dots if you were far enough away.

“Okay, so …”  Shawn said, practically jumping onto their bed, using the bounce he got to sit cross legged.  “We spend a boring amount of time at the station.  You doing work.  Me looking fabulous as always.  Chit chat with Jules.  Ask her about her and Gus’ last date and get all of the juicy details that Gus neglected to share.  Then, once I peel you away from your desk, we go out and try that new place, Spicy Street, because the name sounds fantastic, they have at least six pineapple dishes, and it’s not some … How did you put it?  A ‘hole in the wall you can get salmonella from’?”

“Do you even do cases anymore or do you just bother O’Hara and myself at the station?”

“Lassie!  You know damn well that I do cases!  What about the one last week?  I believe that you said ‘There’s no way in hell that the murderer is a Tom Selleck look-a-like reenacting Magnum P.I. episodes’.  And who was the killer?”

Carlton sighed, “A Tom Selleck look-a-like reenacting Magnum P.I. episodes.”  He was never going to live that down.   But seriously??  What had been the odds?  “How is it that you have a genius IQ?”

Shawn grinned, knowing that Carlton was teasing him.  Reaching out, he snagged the detective’s tie, pulling him down for a kiss.  It started out gentle and loving before the fake psychic deepened it, trying to make it something more dirty.

Lassiter pulled away with a laugh, “Later.  Time for work now.”

Ignoring the way that Shawn pouted and threw himself backwards on the bed in a mini temper tantrum, he fixed his tie again and led the male out to his car.  After their first date, it was only a month before Carlton had realized that Shawn had practically moved himself in, not that he was complaining.  On their two month anniversary, Carlton officially gave Shawn a key, although he knew that the fake detective had already made copies forever ago.  It was more about formalities. 

It was also on their two month anniversary that Carlton had finally returned the disc that Gus had given him from the fake psychic’s ‘last requests’ folder.  Shawn had been surprised that the head detective had refused to watch it.  Carlton had told the male that he hoped the day never came that he had to watch that disc, or if he did, he hoped it was when they were both old and ‘living out their last days in a cabin by a lake’.  Of course, Shawn had then taken a serious conversation and turned it into something about doomsday cabins and how Lassiter would handle the zombie apocalypse.

As soon as they got to the station, Shawn skipped inside, immediately finding Juliet at her desk, ready to chat her up.  It seemed as if everyone at the station had already thought that something was going on between the head detective and fake psychic before they had announced their relationship.  Some cited Lassiter’s attitude while Shawn had been in his coma (“That was more than just being upset about a coworker”) and some had brought up the way that Shawn could never keep his hands off of Carlton.  Whatever reason they came up with, they had all seemed … Happy for them.  He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but that apparently hadn’t been it.  Lassiter gave Juliet a small, apologetic smile, knowing that Shawn wouldn’t leave her alone until he got the information he came for.

It had only been a couple months, but Guster had finally mustered up the courage to ask O’Hara out to dinner.  Of course, that had also been after two nights where Gus had come over to make sure that Shawn was no longer interested in Juliet in a romantic way and he had Shawn’s blessing to ask Juliet out.  The second night, Gus had come over, as per Shawn’s instructions without Carlton’s knowledge, and let himself in to catch an eyeful of a shirtless head detective and fake psychic in a very heavy make out session on the couch.

Needless to say, Gus never questioned Shawn’s feelings for Juliet again and the fake psychic had got a stern talking to from Lassiter.

From his desk, he watched as Shawn told Juliet about their latest date, playing paintball.  Honestly, if he had known that the fake psychic would be that good, he probably wouldn’t have suggested it.  Afterwards, he had demanded that they go to the gun range so he could see just how good Shawn was.

That trip had ended with Carlton so hot and bothered by the sight of Shawn’s skill with a firearm that they had barely made it to the head detective’s precious car before Lassiter’s hands and mouth were working the fake psychic to release.

Thankfully, it seemed like Shawn was leaving that part of the story out.

By evening, Shawn had managed to work his way onto another case, solving it in almost record time (“Of course it’s the janitor!  The spirits are screaming it’s him.  Check the janitor’s closet, you’ll find all of the missing wallets”).  After saying their farewells, Carlton drove them to the day’s finale: dinner.

The fake psychic had picked out some sort of pineapple barbeque dish and Carlton had decided on the steak before excusing himself to go to the bathroom.  Once he’d returned, Shawn had built a catapult with the toothpicks and spoon on the table, content with launching balled up pieces of straw paper at the head detective until their meal arrived.

Eventually, their meal had finished and dessert arrived.  Carlton had picked out a pineapple sundae, smiling a bit as he could see his conversation with the chef when he had gone to ‘the bathroom’ sitting atop the sundae.

Shawn froze as he saw the silver ring lying atop the rose that sat in the center of the top pineapple ring on the sundae.  Slowly, he looked up in time to see Carlton getting on one knee.

“I never thought that we would end up here, but now that we are … I can’t imagine being anywhere else.  You can be annoying as hell and drive me insane, but I also know how loving you can be.  And … I love you, Shawn.  I have for a while now and I thought this would be an appropriate time …  Shawn Spencer, will you marry me?”

As the seconds passed, the fake psychic just stared at Lassiter.  He had somewhat knew this was coming with the way Lassiter had seemed nervous lately, but it still was a little bit of a shock.  After a moment, his face softened and he smiled brightly.  “What do you think?”

Carlton chuckled. “I think …” He paused to hold his hand up in the obnoxious way that Shawn usually did for his visions, “The spirits are telling me you’ll say yes."

“I knew you were psychic,” Shawn said as he kissed the detective happily.