A/N: Well, this is just a story that I've had in mind for a while and I just had to type it up.

Chapter One

Never before had Lassiter been so tempted to drive off the road and into a ditch. Although, knowing his luck, he would live.

And so would Spencer.

How in the world the chief believed that he could get any work done with that yahoo around, Lassiter would never know. But here he was, driving down the long deserted highway, with Spencer sitting shotgun and singing "The Song That Never Ends."

Lassiter could shoot him and no one would ever know. The road was surrounded by never ending grain fields. The whole process would take what? Ten…fifteen minutes from his day?

No, he couldn't do that. He wanted to.

"I just started singing, not knowing what it was."

Oh, how he wanted to. But he couldn't. Besides, despite how much he hated to admit it, Spencer got the job done and Lassiter wanted this case solved as quickly as possible. For his own sanity if nothing else.

The name of the man that they were investigating was Roy Flemming. He was the only suspect that the police had in a string of unusual crimes. Mostly robberies. And most involving chickens in some way or another. Ceramic chickens, pictures of chickens, stuffed chickens, wooden chickens, KFC, and honest to goodness, real live, still clucking and flapping their wings chickens.

It goes without saying that SBPD was having a shortage on actual crime. Otherwise, Lassiter wouldn't be caught dead within fifty feet of this case. Or stuck in his small car with his least favorite person…second, least favorite person. Truthfully, and he would never admit this to the psychic, Lassiter's least favorite person was still that scary "rookie" that he had been stuck with, while O'Hara went undercover in a college dorm.

Speaking of O'Hara, Lassiter was going to give her hell when she came back from visiting her family. You know what? He was going to give Guster hell too, for the sole reason that if he hadn't gone off on a business trip, then maybe the Chief wouldn't have been so driven up the wall by the overly rambunctious psychic, and forced Lassiter to allow him to come along.

It really didn't help that the drive to where the suspect lived, was ninety minutes out of town.

"Spencer," Lassiter growled, reining in enough of his anger so that he didn't kill the young man sitting next to him, "if you don't desist with that noise, then I am going to throw you from this car, whether it's still moving or not."

The psychic pouted, made some comment about Lassiter's hairline, and then went into a long lecture about pineapples and how they were the superior fruit.

Lassiter tuned him out. It was easier to do, now that Spencer wasn't screeching.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -

The whole trip was a total bust. Flemming didn't live in the small dusty town anymore. And no one could give him any information on the man, except that he had a chicken fetish. The only thing that Lassiter got from the trip was ninety minutes in the car with Spencer, a lecture on pineapples and a migraine. And now he couldn't even get the

seven-year-old-in-a-man's-body, back into the car, for the hour and a half's ride back.

"Spencer," Lassiter yelled, catching Shawn's attention as he looked through a dirty window at a shop full antiques (he was looking at a small velvet dog with a missing eye), "If you don't get in the car now, then I will leave you here and you will get to hitch a ride home."

Shawn cast one last glance at the dog, before he trotted over to Lassiter, who was standing by his car.

"Lassie, you really need to lighten up," Shawn said, smiling at the sour-faced detective. "Why don't you stop and smell the roses some times."

Lassiter didn't dignify Shawn with an answer and merely opened his car door and slid inside.

Giving a small shrug, Shawn got into the car quietly. He had a feeling that if he waited any longer then Lassiter would be good to his threat and drive off. Besides, he could bother Lassiter more, once they were back on the road.

Lassiter was just starting to drive off, when an old man jumped out, right in front of the car. Swerving, and slamming on his brakes, Lassiter barely managed to not hit the guy.

"Stop," the man shouted, waving his arms frantically back and forth, his long gray beard sticking up at odd angles. "You must stop," he commanded, hurrying to Lassiter's window.

"Get back," Lassiter commanded, rolling his window down only an inch, far enough that his voice would carry out.

"You mustn't go that way," the man insisted, his light brown eyes pleading.

Lassiter took a moment, to take in the man's appearance. Facial appearance and hygiene, suggested a hobo. The suite that he was wearing, on the other hand, suggested someone important. In the end though, Carlton decided that the man was just crazy.

"You mustn't go that way," the man repeated in earnest. "Evil spirits live down that road and if you travel down it, you might die."

"Nice try," Lassiter said, his tone brushing the man off, "we came into town by that road and nothing happened."

Lassiter started to drive forward, but again the man threw himself in front of the car.

"What the—" Lassiter yelled, slamming back on his brakes and punching the horn.

"He's right," a less crazy looking, slightly middle-aged woman called out. She had been watching the whole thing. "If you go down that road, trying to leave town, bad things will happen. You'll go insane. There's another road that you can take," she pointed behind her, at a different road that lead in the opposite direction that the two men wanted to go. "It will only add forty-five minutes to your trip," the woman added.

"Are you mad?" Lassiter demanded.

Forty-five extra minutes in the car with the psychic. After he had accidentally let him drink a can of Mountain Dew? No, Lassiter was not going to deal with that. He could not be held responsible for his actions if trapped with a caffeinated Shawn for too long.

Instead of answering the crazy old man or the busy-body woman, Lassiter revved his engine. Surprised, the man jumped away from the car, giving Lassiter enough time to drive away, before he could throw himself back onto his car.

Great, he was going to have to washed his car again.

"Hey Lassie," Shawn said, his tone hard to read, "maybe we should take the other road."

Shawn didn't believe that any evil spirits resided down the road, and he didn't believe that they would go nuts by driving down it, but still… Lassiter may have not been paying attention to anything while they were in town, but Shawn had, and almost everyone that he had talked to, had told him not to go back down that road. Everyone seemed genuinely afraid of that road, but Shawn had chalked it all up to an old superstition. He hadn't thought that anyone would try to physically stop them.

"Besides," Shawn said, a big grin spreading across his face, "then we could spend more time together, bonding."

Lassiter actually looked horrified at the thought.

"Not on your life," he growled, stepping on the gas.

"Uh, hey Lassie," Shawn said, leaning over in his seat and looking at the dashboard, "you're going kind of fast."

"I know," Lassiter said, panic coloring his voice, "I can't—"

Lassiter was cut off when the car, ripping from his control, flew wildly off the road and into the surrounding fields. Lassiter was aware of a loud crunching noise, before his airbag came out and, slamming his body forcefully back onto his seat, sent him into unconsciousness.

A/N: Well, that's chapter one. I hope you enjoyed and please review