Summary: My responses to the Drabble Challenges on the Psychfic forum.
...Mostly because I'm terrible at finishing what I start, so 100 words is quick, easy, and painless from start to finish. ...Well, unless you're a fake psychic with a load of angry pineapples.
Categories: Short Characters: Buzz, Gus, Henry, Juliet, Lassiter, Mr. Yin, OMC, Other, Shawn
Genres: General
Warnings: Character Death
Challenges: Lassie Face!
Challenges: Lassie Face! Series: None
Chapters: 28
Completed: No
Word count: 5287
Read: 182009
Published: November 18, 2015
Updated: June 21, 2024
Story Notes:
This pretty much does what it says on the tin. (Oh, how I love that expression.) There isn't much for me to say here in the story notes or in the summary. This is just a bunch of one-shots for those times when I fancy answering the call for writing bi-weekly 100 or 200-word selections for the various themed challenges on the PF Community boards. I'll update the character list and rating and whatnot as I add more one-shots.
The title is inspired by one of my favorite albums, Achtung Baby. The album turned 24 on the day I posted the first piece in this collection-y thing.
Disclaimer: I do not own Psych, nor do I own any of its characters, settings, trademarks, or related material. Psych and all related materials are the property of their respective owners. The plot and original characters of this story are my intellectual property. I am not associated with Psych, its creators, or any involved parties, nor am I associated with any other media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
1. I Run To You by PineappleHead
2. A Special Anniversary...For Murder by PineappleHead
3. The Black and The Blue by PineappleHead
4. Hiding Space by PineappleHead
5. Swish, Buzz, Pop by PineappleHead
6. Today's News by PineappleHead
7. Under The Influence by PineappleHead
8. Inspire Me by PineappleHead
9. All That Glitters by PineappleHead
10. Brick Wall by PineappleHead
11. It's A Sign (Of Disaster) by PineappleHead
12. Boredom by PineappleHead
13. Handle With Care by PineappleHead
14. A Day in the Life by PineappleHead
15. Practice Makes Permanent by PineappleHead
16. Building Blocks by PineappleHead
17. Rushing by PineappleHead
18. Surprised by PineappleHead
19. Scripted by PineappleHead
20. The World's A Stage by PineappleHead
21. Isolation by PineappleHead
22. Lockdown by PineappleHead
23. The Sound of Silence by PineappleHead
24. Who Are You? by PineappleHead
25. Heatwave by PineappleHead
26. Into the Unknown by PineappleHead
27. "I'm up to the challenge." by PineappleHead
28. "Talk to me." by PineappleHead
I Run To You by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
I know, I know. I shouldn't be starting yet another new project with everything else unfinished, but...like I said in the summary notes, 100 words (or 200, in the case of this chapter) is easy to finish and it gives my crowded INFP mind a break from all the problems I'm trying to solve/ignore. :-D
The theme for this challenge was "A Tale of Two Kitties."
...Okay, so my story is more like a tale of one kitty and a head detective, but once I got this image in my head, I couldn't get rid of it. So here you go. :-D
Title for this one is borrowed from a Lady Antebellum song that's been on my mind lately. A song about finding comfort from other people when the world seems to be coming undone.
Shawn had no idea how he'd been turned into a kitten, or why. But at the moment, he really didn't care. He could figure out the details later; right now, he was a fluffy gray and black tabby, and that was the only thing that mattered. Jumping onto Lassiter's desk, he scanned the room for Jules, Gus, or Buzz. He didn't see them, but he did see the Chief, and he ducked under Lassiter's chair in the nick of time. He was so busy checking to make sure that Chief Vick had left that he didn't see Lassiter approaching until it was too late. The head detective fell into his chair with a quiet groan, reaching around to rub his back and wincing. Shawn was right next to Lassiter's left foot. He could see no escape. So he jumped up into Lassiter's lap and waited for the curses or punches to come. But they didn't. Instead, Lassiter's eyes went wide and he looked around. Finally, a quiet curse did escape as Lassiter continued looking for the cat's potential owner, never realizing that his hands were unconsciously petting and getting comfort from the softness of a fluffy tabby's thick gray fur.
A Special Anniversary...For Murder by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
200-word fic for Drag's 11th Anniversary Challenge on the forum!
http://www.psychfic.com/community/showthread.php?p=138935#post138935
He sinks into his desk chair and heaves a sigh. He's been waiting for this moment all week, carefully planning, down to the last details. Last year’s little fiesta didn’t go so well, what with so many nasty surprises throwing him off his game. Things’ll be smoother this time. The bait has been carefully laid into the trap and he's monitoring the front door with the security camera. He sees that signature Hawaiian shirt cross into the camera's view and he grins. Perfect. Henry's right on time. The cat is sitting on top of his briefcase---a shiny silver beauty that had once belonged to Burton Guster. So much nicer than his old one, it now contained all the tools he'd need to make this party truly spectacular. He shoos the cat away and opens up the case, laying the syringe on the desk, wincing as the oven timer goes off downstairs---he'd forgotten the smugly-ironic pineapple upside-down cake baking in the oven. He makes one last adjustment to the bulletproof vest beneath his dress shirt and picks up the syringe. Mr. Yin grins. What better way to celebrate the first anniversary of Shawn Spencer's death than to kill the kid’s father?
The Black and The Blue by PineappleHead
Brock was boyfriend #3 after Frank left. Juliet stayed away from him; she may have only been fourteen, but she could tell that something wasn’t right about him. And something about her mom wasn’t right when she was around him, either. But Juliet couldn’t put her finger on it.
Until one day she came home and went to the kitchen for an after-school snack. Only she didn’t make it. Stopped by the sounds of gasps and sobs and the rattle as something slammed into the cupboard. Juliet backed away from the door, tripping over her pink high-tops. She bumped into someone; she whirled, on the verge of tears.
“Ewan? Help,” she whispered.
“Jule, stay here,” her brother said, dropping his Marines duffel and barging through.
Brock left that night. Ewan took her aside. “Promise me, Juliet. No matter what example Mom sets for you, never let anyone hurt you like that.”
“I promise,” Juliet said, grabbing him in a hug.
She thought about that night when Carlton responded to the call that her neighbor made about a domestic dispute next door. When he asked why Shawn was dead, she turned the other cheek…and showed him the bruise, black and blue.
Hiding Space by PineappleHead
“I thought I might find you hiding out here.”
She looks up at him and tries to smile. She almost manages it. “This place always seems to work for you. I thought I’d try it out.”
Lassiter glances around Tom Blair’s Pub. O’Hara’s in his usual seat, the stool where he can see the door and almost the entire restaurant. He sits beside her. “I’ll have what you’re having.”
“You won’t like it.”
He can tell from looking at her glass that it is something he would like, and something she would never touch. Yin and that clocktower have rattled her. “I’ll have what you’re having.”
“Do you think he cares about me?” she blurts.
“Who?”
“Shawn.” Her words come out in a jumbled, half-blurred whisper. “I know that she’s a civilian and I’m a cop and he was right to rescue her first, but I---”
“O’Hara---”
“I know you don’t want to hear this but I---”
“O’Hara.”
She stops.
“Even if you were a civilian and not my partner---I will always come for you first.” He grabs her glass and downs it. “Get yourself a Diet Coke and meet me at the coffee shop first thing in the morning.”
Swish, Buzz, Pop by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
It's Dobson's world. We're all just living in it.
A brush of air as the pineapple swishes an inch in front of his face.
"You almost hit Dobson!” Gus shouts to Shawn across the room. Lassiter’s furious.
Dobson doesn’t even look up from his newspaper.
Beside him, McNab fidgets; he can see it in his peripherals. “What is it, Buzz?”
“You think we should tell them that we solved the Straight Street murder case?”
“Nope.” Dobson pops the ‘P.’
“Why not?”
“Why should we? They never ask for our help.”
“But…”
“This happens every time. We do all the work, and they stumble around until they land on the answer by accident and get all the credit. That’s how this works.” Dobson folds up his newspaper and lays it down right as a paper airplane whizzes past his ear. He twitches to the left just in time.
McNab’s eyes widen. “How’d you do that?”
Dobson flashes him a look. “If you really want to, take this file folder and give it to the Chief, okay? You can tell her you did it all by yourself if you want. Maybe you’ll even make detective.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” Dobson slips on some aviator shades. “I was never here.”
Today's News by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
Another 200-word goodie. This one's utter crack craic, and a prime example of why I shouldn't be allowed to play immersive RPGs. Crossover with The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion that I know nobody will care about but me. ;-)
Shawn paced the street in front of the Mages Guild. The Midyear sun made him sweat beneath his blue robes. He wore his robes open, linen shirt and chainmail greaves beneath. He looked around again, finally spotting the red Alik’r turban amidst the crowd of Imperials and Dunmer.
“It’s about time!”
“You need to see this.”
Shawn glanced down at the Black Horse Courier that Gus shoved into his hands. “What’s today’s news? Did one of our crime-solving accidents show up again?” He froze as he read the headline. “The Emperor has been assassinated?”
Gus whispered, “If he’s dead, then…there’s nothing to stop Daedra from invading. Shawn…” Gus shook his head. “If you’ve seen anything of the future…”
Shawn swallowed hard. “I need to find my dad.”
He tried not to flashback to the disappointment in Henry’s eyes when he’d decided to join the Guild instead of the Legion.
Two things I hate most: adventurers, and mages. Congratulations. You just hit the disappointment exacta.
“Go saddle Blueberry. We need to get to the Imperial City, fast.”
“She’s a Temple horse, Shawn!”
The paper fell into a puddle as the Imperial mage and the Redguard healer raced for the Cheydinhal stables.
End Notes:
And the ending of the words is A Little Mini Silver Vented Igloo. ;-)
Under The Influence by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
Is it strange that as soon as I started writing this, Lady Antebellum's "Hey, Bartender" song started repeating in my head?
When Paul landed the job at Tom Blair's Pub, he hadn't known what he was getting into.
First, he learned about Shawn Spencer, because Shawn asked for the specialty fries to be named after him. Paul also learned that when Shawn was alone, he ordered gin and requested a Poison song for the radio. When the blonde was with him, Coke and Beach Boys.
Blondie had her secrets too. Alone, hard liquor. Tequila if her eyes were bloodshot. If someone else was with her, iced tea. Sometimes she came with Tall Guy: Whiskey, rocks, Johnny Cash. Often, Tall Guy came alone and stayed past closing time.
Then there were the two beat cop buddies. Paul knew their names because Buzz introduced them on Paul's first day. Buzz was the talkative one, but not bright. Roger said little but saw everything. Glass of milk and Irish coffee.
They came in and out, and eventually Paul learned what they all had in common: they were all under the influence of their own hidden lives, wires crossing but never connecting.
One night he took Blondie's keys. Paul waited to see who'd pick her up, but she refused his phone and walked home alone.
Inspire Me by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
200 words, just like pretty much all of 'em. XD
“Okay, Carlton,” she slams her palms down on his desk and drops into the chair across from him. “Inspire me.”
“What?” he asks without looking up.
She grabs the file from his hands.
He stares. “You’ve got my attention, O’Hara. What is it?”
“I don’t know what to get Shawn for his birthday and I’m running out of time.”
“And?”
“You’re a man,” Juliet pleads. “You know what men like. Help me!”
Lassiter snorts. “You said it yourself, O’Hara. He’s a man. Men only feel two emotions: indifference, and anger.” He checks them off with two fingers. “It doesn’t matter what you get him. You could get him a banana and he’d be happy.”
“Carlton, I’m serious,” she snaps. And then she shifts from hard and demanding to cool and sweet like water.
Lassiter melts. “You. He wants you.” He stutters. “To spend time with you, I mean. That’s what he wants for his birthday.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Lassiter confirms.
“Is that all you want for your birthday, too?” she teases.
“That, and a John Wayne movie. Can I have my file back?”
She hands him the folder and smiles. “Thanks, Carlton.”
He grunts. When she’s gone, he smiles.
All That Glitters by PineappleHead
Juliet was awake all night, wedding cake and Prosecco still sour on her tongue.
Of course he wasn’t psychic. Any idiot could see that. Even she had seen it, had been skeptical. Nobody is a real psychic.
She wanted to believe. If Shawn were psychic, then he’d never committed any B&Es, or withheld information, or tampered with evidence. If Shawn were psychic, then he’d never lied to her. If Shawn were psychic…
Then nothing would have to change. Their world could stay golden.
She hugged a pillow before realizing that it smelled like him, the faint scents of light cologne and his favorite ginger shampoo. She threw it to the other side of the room and moved to the couch.
More than anything, she wanted Carlton. To cry on his shoulder. But she couldn’t; it was his wedding night, and she couldn’t. And she didn’t have anyone else. Not anyone else in the world. Not Carlton; not Ewan; not her father. Not Shawn.
Like a wraith, she wandered to the kitchen, picked up a gilt-framed photo booth strip from the counter. His smile dazzled.
She threw the entire thing out the window.
And where do we go from here?
End Notes:
I've had Def Leppard's version of "Rock On" in my head since Wednesday, so I decided to worm it into the story as the last line... Fun fact: Michael Damien, who was mentioned in "Deez Nups" and is indirectly part of the reason why Shawn was caught in his lie, has also recorded a cover of the song. The more you know!
Brick Wall by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
200 words.
There wasn’t supposed to be a storm. They weren’t supposed to run off the road. They weren’t supposed to get lost miles from civilization. It seemed simple: head up to the Rockies, find the guy, and get out. But it didn’t work that way.
Shawn and Gus huddled against each other beneath the outcropping of rock, like a brick wall against their backs. Shawn had used tree branches to make a lean-to and start a tiny fire, or else they wouldn’t have survived for as long as they had. Gus silently thanked God for Henry’s survival skills training.
For the first two weeks, he kept track of the days by scratching the tree branches with a sharp stone. After that, he lost count.
“Gus?” Shawn rasped.
“I’m---here,” Gus forced out.
“You still think help is coming?”
“Y-yeah. They’re probably out looking now.”
“You do---whatever it takes to make it out of here, okay?” Shawn wheezed. “Promise.”
“P-promise.” He was too tired to say anything else. Everything seemed heavy, leaden… He was drifting…
When he woke up, Shawn’s fire was bigger than before. Beyond the branches of the windbreak, the blizzard howled.
“Shawn?” He pressed his head against Shawn’s chest.
Nothing.
End Notes:
It's lucky that I was limited to 200 words for this one.
It's A Sign (Of Disaster) by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
A Very Psleverage Origin Story
Juliet flips the keys up and down in her hand, Carlton pressed against her side in the cramped elevator. Closer than usual. No clue what’s wrong; he seemed fine earlier. Nervous about the job? Possible. She’s never attempted to steal anything quite like this before. Nothing this well-guarded, or this big---something beyond her father’s wildest dreams. This single score will sustain the two of them for months. “Ready, metal man?” she whispers, as always.
“10-4, monkey.” Tone even, blue eyes still focused on the elevator doors. Open with a ding. Walking out in step, then size 12 narrows quicken ahead as her delicate Converse sneakers fall behind…
She’s limber and quick and sneaky, and Carlton---well, he isn’t. She’s up in the air ducts in a second and navigating them with scary expertise. The vault is supposed to be sealed but there’s always, always a way in.
How’s Carlton? she wonders as she dangles into the locked room.
Then she sees the worst problem imaginable as a hazel-eyed yuppie with an earpiece hovers from a cable over her prize, holding a sign that reads, “Crime doesn’t pay.”
She stares at the rival thief.
“Hi,” Shawn says, bewildered. “You come here often?”
Author's Notes:
Harakiri, this one's for you!
“HYYYAAAHHH!!!” Shawn shrieked as he struggled to pin Gus’ arm to Lassiter's desk.
“Hnnnnnnnnnh,” Gus grunted, cheeks flushing with exertion as beads of sweat cropped up above his brow and upper lip.
“Aiiiiii-aahhhhh,” another groan from Shawn, followed by an “nnnnnnggghhh” as he set his jaw and grit his teeth. A muscle or perhaps a tendon in his thumb dislocated with an audible ‘pop.’
Gus’ eyes narrowed and he swore he heard ‘Eye of the Tiger’ playing somewhere in the background (maybe on Dobson's radio) as he stared deep into hazel eyes, huffing with nostrils flared like an enraged bull ready to gore an impertinent challenger.
“Nyyuhhhh,” Shawn gasped as Gus finally pinned his wrist on top of Lassiter's legal pad. “Rematch!”
“What are you idiots doing?” Lassiter said, shoving Shawn’s limp arm off his desk as he pulled up his chair.
“Challenging you to arm-wrestle,” Shawn replied.
“Fine.” As Shawn’s eyes saucered, Lassiter unbuttoned and rolled back his starched white sleeves.
Their hands clasped.
Gus counted them off: “One, two, three!”
Thwack!
Shawn stared. “How’d you do that so fast, Lassie? You didn’t even break a sweat!”
Lassiter grunted and reached for a pen. “You should try arm-wrestling O’Hara.”
Handle With Care by PineappleHead
The fan mail had been great at first, but now Shawn was getting tired of it. His entire apartment (aka the old Mimi’s Fluff & Fold) was strewn with dried-out Magic Markers, glossy headshots, and self-addressed stamped envelopes. He clicked the button that sent the old laundromat conveyor cranking toward him, bringing him a new sack of mail.
“Chad, I love you!”
“Chad, will you ever come back on the show?”
“Chad, did you really love Corrine?”
“Chad, how did you hide the fact that you were the father of Serena’s baby?”
“Chad, will you be the father of my baby?”
The deluge never ended. Using his teeth, Shawn uncapped a fresh marker and scrawled his name across a photo of his makeupped delivery-guy face. He stuffed the autograph into a random SASE and tossed it into the bag of finished responses. Then he realized that the next letter in the stack was written in familiar handwriting---shimmery pink gel pen ink.
Reaching for another copy of his promotional photo, Shawn grinned at what he scrawled across the bottom: Maneje con cuidado.
A Day in the Life by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
I couldn't decide which of two ideas to use for the prompt, so... I wrote them both. The second idea that I had is the one that I'm using for the drabble challenge because it's shorter! :-D Anyway, this 200-word goodie is devoted to the post-Psych SBPD crew, since apparently Detective Brannigan was feeling left out during this year's Psychfic Awards. This one's for you, Betsy! I still love you!
Sometimes he has a lot on his plate. Marriage, children, long hours keeping a police station running… So naturally, he forgets from time to time. Who could blame him, really? It’s not easy to be a pillar of the community and a paragon of law enforcement all the time. And after all, he’s only human.
Still, sometimes it stings. She twirls her Colt 1911 in the shooting range. Her hand locks around the grip. She levels the pistol at the target, taking aim. A rush of air brushes past her and she uses her peripherals to scan the area.
It’s him.
She fires.
He takes his time preparing his Colt Government handgun. Apart from the glitter and holiday cat sweaters, they could be fraternal twins; down to the choice of weapon. He takes aim and fires without looking at her. By the end of the hour, the targets have gaping holes in their vital areas and the department’s a couple cartons of bullets lighter.
“I’m sorry I called you O’Hara, Brannigan,” Chief Lassiter says finally as he’s removing the earplugs.
“Oh, it’s okay. We both have blonde hair and great aim,” Betsy says.
Lassiter ghosts a smile. “See you tomorrow.”
Practice Makes Permanent by PineappleHead
“Wow, Jules, you're really good at this.”
“Thank you, Shawn. I've been practicing since I left Miami,” she replied, twirling the weapon in her hands---a motion not entirely unlike something Lassiter would do with his beloved Colt.
“I can---I can tell. Uh---wow.”
She smiled. “Well, you know, this is nothing. It's just practice.”
“Just practice? Are you kidding me? You're amazing!”
“Thanks, Shawn. One more!”
“Aw, Jules, you don't need more practice. Let's just go.”
“Sorry, Shawn. This may not be as much fun as going to Gus’ safecracking festival, but you know what they say: practice makes perfect.”
“Look, Jules, all I'm saying is that when you make these choices of hobby, y'know, it's like painting lawn gnomes. It's permanent, and you can't take it back. So maybe you should think about whether you really want to do this before you jump in with both feet. What do you say?”
Juliet smiled again. “Sorry, Shawn. I know how much you wanted to spend time with me this weekend, but---” she lined up her elbow with the target--- “I really need the practice.”
One smooth arc with the throwing axe, and Shawn's head lined up very nicely next to Lassiter's.
Building Blocks by PineappleHead
Carlton was fast asleep.
Derek sighed and ran a hand over his face, eventually clasping both hands between his knees as he sat on his bed. They'd shared this room for years now. Derek was ten years Carlton's senior, and they'd been sharing this room since Carlton was born. Derek was 22 now. He sighed again, standing up and crossing to his little brother's bed, gently kicking some building blocks away so he could kneel on the floor. “Hey, Carl,” he whispered. “I know I promised you I'd still be here in the morning, but I gotta go. It's something big. Really big. And---and in case I don't come back, Carl---” Derek swallowed hard. “You'll always be my real partner.” He reached into the pocket of his federal black suit and found his FBI business card, plain white with black print on the front: “Derek Lassiter, Jr. Special Agent.” He placed it on Carlton's side of the nightstand, beneath one of the wooden building blocks. The one with a blue D on one side. “Love you, little man.”
Derek didn't come back.
End Notes:
This one is dedicated to both Koohii Kappu and BlkLunaDragon.
Technically, the fact that Lassiter's older brother is both A. dead, and B. named Derek, are Luna's ideas. I just borrowed them and ran off with 'em in a totally opposite direction. Actually, if memory serves, she implied in Berserker's Instinct (or, y'know, somewhere) that Derek was killed in South America either by or because of Leo. I honestly still think that that would fit for Derek here, because Leo could've easily hired Murdoc to do the killing, and since Derek was chasing Murdoc anyway, he would've picked up that contract without a second thought. And if you're going to lure someone to a remote location to kill them, South America will do just as well as anywhere, right?
Which means that, technically, Shawn's secret in the Judas-verse *may* not be *quite* so bad after all...
Author's Notes:
Mirame, this one's for you! :-D
Special Agent Aaron Hotchner peered into the darkness with sharp eyes, holding his weapon parallel to the ground. The dim streetlight just barely illuminated the figure ahead.
“Drop your weapon,” he said calmly.
The figure stepped forward: the serial killer holding a knife to the psychic's throat.
Hotch bit back a sigh, not betraying even a hint of emotion despite hearing Morgan quietly cursing through his earpiece. Shawn looked at the FBI agent more sheepishly than fearfully, and Hotch wasn't sure whether to be impressed or frustrated. Before Hotch could open his mouth, Shawn opened his.
“Well, now that we're all here, let's all go out for a Jamba Juice,” he said with a laugh that was 100% anxiety; Hotch could see the sweat beading above his upper lip even at that distance.
The second Hotch managed to talk the killer into letting Shawn loose, the two of them swooped in.
“Hey,” Morgan said to Hotch as they were loading the guy into the back of Lassiter's car. “Sorry it took me so long to get here.”
“No need to rush on my account,” Shawn quipped.
The two Feds just looked at each other and grinned.
Surprised by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
100 words.
Surprised? No, surprised wasn't the word. Devastated was more like it: the electric charge that coursed through him, breaking the night of cake and prosecco, when he returned to find a hand in a coat pocket and all too many dots connected.
She was a good detective, after all.
And her eyes demanded an explanation, flashing a clear message across the room, seeming to shout, I know, but also daring to hope that she didn't.
And his own hazel eyes telegraphed, unwillingly, a chilling message in return as he froze in the doorway across the room:
I know you know.
Scripted by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
Crossover with Limitless. (This one's for you, Mirame!) 100 words.
Teeth-gritted grin, denim, palms oddly devoid of sweat. Suit jacket red tie, flashes of a winning smile with perfect white canine teeth, even incisors; hazel and blue meeting across the room, the telltale flash the only thing in common.
The speech was scripted; the look in his eyes was not.
“Imagine seeing you again,” a discreet whisper into a water glass at the reception afterwards.
“How long’s it been?” Hazel eyes narrow down, glinting with NZT’s effect still visible.
He grins again, politician farce discarded. “You know.”
Unsure whether to relax, Shawn dips his head into a nod. “Morra.”
“Spencer.”
The World's A Stage by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
300 words. Star Trek crossover. ;-)
Shawn Spencer stared grimly into the cracked mirror, running the primitive razor across his skin. Cutting away the cultivated growth of beard that he'd been nurturing since he graduated the Academy. This was, unfortunately, a time for a new beginning, and some things had to be left behind; everything old cleared away in order for him to give the greatest performance possible.
The beard was one such thing; so was his uniform, the gold and black fabric that he'd burned to ashes in secrecy. No one could know where he was really from if he wanted to stay in character, maintain his cover.
He glanced down at the identification card in his palm. Strange, that the other Shawn's babyface had so closely matched his own. That was why he'd chosen to escape to this location and time in the first place; if he played his cards correctly, no one would ever suspect that this universe's Shawn was dead and his counterpart had taken his place.
The one thing Shawn couldn't part with, as he looked one last time in the dark mirror, was his badge. The pierced Earth and dagger, polished gold and black… On the back, the inscription: Captain Shawn Spencer, I.S.S. California.
Not anymore. Now, he was “Shawn Spencer” of Santa Barbara, 21st century Earth. But…there were some things too precious to part with, even in exile.
Ex-Captain Spencer slid the insignia into his pocket and stared at his reflection one last time, as if to say goodbye to the alternate world that he'd left behind forever…and he mentally prepared himself to take his counterpart's place.
As he exited the hotel room and swung his leg over the other Shawn's primitive black motorcycle, he muttered under the roar of the engine, “Long live the Terran Empire.”
Isolation by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
This is a fanfic of the wonderful BlkLunaDragon's fic "Berserker's Instinct," a story that's had a very special place in my heart since 2012. Luna's characters are used with her gracious permission. Enjoy!
Red-orange leaves in a clearing of trees. Endless labyrinths of hallways, secret rooms, doors that must never be opened. Ghosts and empties…
Long dark hair, green eyes, purple jacket. Making her silent rounds, checking for traces of shadows where they shouldn’t be.
She never met anyone who kept more secrets from themselves than Carlton did. Not that she had the chance to meet that many people in her short life…and if this was an afterlife, it was certainly a strange one—the third side of a coin, forever keeping the other two in balance.
And with him involved, balance was never an easy task. Though for the time being, he seemed at least to be placated…
It was funny, in a way, the irony of Carlton’s life. He started all of this to save her. Instead, she was here, the keeper of thirty years of secrets and lies. Unremembered and yet not quite forgotten, unalive and yet not quite dead.
Too crowded inside Carlton’s head to be lonely, and yet she was—a lonely warden in isolation.
Lockdown by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
Crossover with Transformers. (Bayverse, alas.) Specifically, "Age of Extinction," which, despite the distinct lack of Leonard Nimoy, did have a pretty darn good antagonist.
It was mere months after the Battle of Chicago. Energon detectors lined major cities. Pundits speculated on television.
"We are not alone."
Every day the fear grew. The worry. Which city would be next? Who were allies? Who were enemies?
Which car would be the wrong one to get into?
San Francisco was a big city, Shawn mused to himself as he hurtled to the city limits on his motorcycle. He needed to feel the wind in his hair again, danger or no danger, robots or no robots.
That was why he chose to ride the Norton out to meet the hunter.
Towering, powerful build with piercing green eyes. Radioactive eyes. More weapons than Shawn could conceive.
"You received the data?"
"Yes." Throat dry. "The one you're looking for is in Mexico City."
The hunter made a noise like a grinding gear. "Good. If the information is correct, you'll receive the other half of your payment."
Shawn breathed a quiet sigh of relief. With Lockdown's protection, he would know for sure that Santa Barbara and San Francisco would be safe.
End Notes:
Did Shawn just tell an alien bounty hunter where to find Optimus Prime? Maaaaybe...
The Sound of Silence by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
For this one, I have a long version and a short version. The short version will be posted here, and the expanded version will be posted separately as part of my "Judas-verse" series.
For anyone who hasn't read my previous works in that series, it's a crossover AU where Shawn is a former assassin who was trained by Murdoc (the "bad" guy from MacGyver). Which reminds me, I need to finish all those stories... Excuse me.
"Spencer," Lassiter said. The word was heavy with echoes of knowledge. Secrets loosed that were never meant to be unbound.
"I studied my brother's case for years," he said quietly. "My father's too. Cold cases. Both of them were murdered, you know."
'What are you trying to say, Lassie." Not quite a question.
Lassiter leaned back in the chair behind his desk. There was a reason he'd asked for Spencer to come to him and not the other way around. "I have no evidence against you except for your confession to O'Hara, which as you know, went unrecorded."
Shawn stiffened, every muscle tense and yet he was still retaining an eerie calm. It unnerved Lassiter; he was used to seeing the fake psychic as a man-child, not a superhuman.
"I'm going to ask you this once, Spencer, and I need your honest answers. Did you kill my father? And do you know who killed my brother Derek?"
Shawn took in a slow, controlled breath. "Yes. And yes."
The reaction was immediate, the movement fluid: a sidearm drawn. "Give me one good reason."
Uncharacteristic iciness overcame the fake psychic before Lassiter's eyes.
"Lauren."
End Notes:
Perhaps worth noting that one of my previous drabbles revealed a little bit about poor Derek.......
"What is the music of life?" "Silence, my brother..." ---Skyrim
Who Are You? by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
Revisiting my "Dusk" universe for this one... Lassie & Shawn are werewolves and Juliet is a dhampir. Thanks to Mira for a great prompt and Fozzy for great lyrics! (Even if I pretty much didn't use them like I'd planned, the song "End Of Days" still did inspire this idea.)
Who are you? Do you really know? What you’ve become, hollow and numb? A sickness, it eats away all of your dreams left by your fear. Can you believe in love? Lost in this world. Can you believe in love? And it’s not too late. End of Days, and there’s a full moon rising...
Shawn took a deep breath as he stood in the middle of the darkened woods. He slipped off his hoodie, t-shirt, and KangaROOs and slid them underneath a holly bush, shivering against the night air. Checking to make sure no one was around, he crouched in his skintight biker shorts and closed his eyes. When he exhaled…he let himself go.
His brown fur looked pale in the full moonlight as he ran through the trees, pushing himself, urging his burning lungs and muscles onward, as fast as he could go. Scenting the air, keen hazel eyes alert to any dangers or hazards, ears pricked forward, he hurtled onward.
If this was going to be his new life as a wolf, then he had to know. How fast, how far, how long? What could he control, and what was like instinct, like reflex?
And most importantly, was he still Shawn?
A noise. He slowed, scented. The unmistakable fragrance of peaches, which he now knew wasn’t just shampoo, but her, her aroma, the sweetness and beauty of half-vampiric seduction.
“I thought I'd find you out here,” Juliet said with a comforting smile. "Wanna race?"
They took off, and Shawn had his answer.
Heatwave by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
Crossover with another beautiful mystery series. ;-)
"Heat Wave," Shawn said as he banged the inch-thick softcover book down onto the folding table piled high with the latest best seller.
"That's the title of my book," the author said matter-of-factly, "but that one isn't it."
"That's right, Jack. This is Psych's Guide to Crimefighting for the Totally Unqualified. I give it about two weeks before it hits the bestseller lists right next to yours."
"Is that so?" the mystery writer said with an amused and charming grin. "Tell you what. You sign mine, and I'll sign yours."
"Twenty bucks," replied Shawn.
"Ten, but that's with my book thrown in."
"Done."
A crisp bill changed hands. Names were scribbled. Books were exchanged. Shawn walked out of the Barnes & Noble.
During a quick water break, the mystery writer cracked open his new treasure, signed by Santa Barbara's kooky psychic, and chuckled to himself. "I can't wait to show Beckett. This is comedy gold."
Meanwhile, Shawn kicked back at the Psych Office with ten bucks in his pocket, mesmerized by the latest hit novel from Richard Castle.
Into the Unknown by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
I finally remembered to do a weekly challenge again! This time, I have a crossover with my new obsession, Snowpiercer.
Churros. Motorcycles. Movies, popcorn greasy with butter. Silence. The sun, his father, Gus...
Five years. Those were the things he missed.
Voices, wheels, engine, ice…
Snowpiercer, a thousand and one cars long.
The opening gate was accompanied by shouts. Shawn ended up shoved to the front. He prepared to spit at the Brakeman, but he stopped. She was new. Blonde and pretty. He could imagine the sunlight in her hair.
“Stay back!” the Brakeman ordered. The Tailies obeyed her; she was accompanied by Lassiter, the tallest Jackboot--and most likely to use force. The woman snapped her fingers and the Third Class workers rolled in trays of tar-like protein slabs under Lassiter’s watchful eye.
“Brakeman!” Shawn shouted.
Lassiter glared. “Don’t encourage them.”
She paused. “Yes, Mr…?”
It’d been a long time since someone asked his name. “Shawn Spencer.”
“What do you want?”
“Know anyone in Third Class named Burton Guster?”
“Don’t engage, O’Hara,” Lassiter thundered.
“No,” O’Hara said.
Shawn sighed. Gus intended to work his way onto the train, but at the end--
“Second Class,” she continued. “Pharmaceuticals.”
Lassiter knocked Shawn back.
“Stay down, Tailie!”
Gus, alive… Shawn was going to smuggle a message uptrain.
There were only doors between them.
"I'm up to the challenge." by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
This takes place sometime after Shawn started dating Abigail. The setting is Tom Blair's Pub and the bartender is our gentle friend Paul, whose identity was unfortunately cut for the sake of length. (Two words!! I only needed two words!)
The bar was quiet, chatter and music a thrumming background. Quiet is hearing what's in your head too clearly.
A wave, and the bartender sidled over with a fresh shot of tequila. “Another?”
“Please.”
A smile twitched beneath his five-o’clock shadow. “You don't seem happy. Trying to forget somebody?”
“Maybe I’ve forgotten.” No. Shawn’s face haunted her. Juliet knocked back the tequila without thinking.
He reached for the bottle. “Maybe I ought to leave this, see if you can finish the job.”
Her smile was fainter, as blurry eyes - from liquor? tears? - skimmed his nametag. “I’m up to the challenge.”
"Talk to me." by PineappleHead
Author's Notes:
A follow-up of sorts to a story from 10 years ago, "The Gun He Carried." Reading that story isn't necessary for understanding this one.
Content warning: mentions of mental health issues & suicide
“I'm not sure about this,” Shawn said, reaching hesitantly for the cup on the table.
“Don't look at the camera. Talk to me.”
He took a breath, nodded.
“It's been fifteen years since your colleague, Detective Lassiter, took his own life. How has your life changed since?”
“How it hasn't changed would be easier. I see him… Every night.”
“And your career change was because of this?”
“Yeah. I mean… I couldn't put my own life back together, so I decided to try it for other people.”
“Does it help?”
Shawn stared into the cold eye of the camera. “No.”
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.