Title: The Four Stages of the Psych Zombie Attack

A/N: Written for apocalyptothon. Feedback always appreciated.

I. Present Time – Wherein Shawn Spins a Tale

Gus sat against a wall, his head tucked into his knees, in the corner of the gym that was serving as a makeshift shelter on the outskirts of the city. The situation had been crazy for awhile, but since the doctors were going around saying "the worst is over," Gus wasn't quite as worried about attack as he was before.

That only left his usual problem – Shawn Spencer.

As if on cue, his best friend laughed in the fake voice that Shawn considered charming. Gus glanced up and watched as Shawn's arms swung about haphazardly as he regaled a few girls with their story of escape from downtown Santa Barbara. Except, since it was Shawn, the story was about ninety percent fiction and somehow Gus was coming across like an idiot.

"So Gus is cowering in the corner of my dad's living room…"

Gus's head snapped at the sound of his name in the same sentence with cowering. He did not cower. He glared at Shawn and said, "I do not cower, Shawn."

Shawn waved him off. "Fine, while Gus was freaking out in the corner of my dad's living room, I was shooting the zombies one by one, trying to protect us…"

Gus was ready to stand up and tackle Shawn. His dignity was at stake, after all, but he was too tired, mentally and physically, to even bother. Shawn could weave whatever tale he wanted because Gus knew the truth and the real story wasn't nearly as interesting (and Gus definitely didn't cower.)

II. The Breakout – Wherein Gus and Shawn Do Not Panic

"Sometimes I feel I've got to...run away...I've got to...get away..."

Gus groaned inwardly. He hated down time at Psych because it usually meant that he had to take care of Shawn and keep him busy. And he really wasn't in the mood for it that day. Working two jobs was taking its toll and Gus wanted to be lazy and surf the internet and become a puzzle-creating genius. Instead, he was getting Shawn's best rendition of really bad eighties bands. It wouldn't have been so bad if he sang on key.

"The love we share...seems to go nowhere...and I've lost my light..." Shawn sang out in an almost-falsetto voice.

"Shawn!" Gus hollered across the office, trying to force as much anger and annoyance into his glower as humanly possible. He understood that Shawn was bored – the four rounds of "I'm so bored" clued him in – but this was a level of hell that Gus didn't deserve.

"Not in the mood for Soft Cell. Okay…" Shawn raised his fingers to his temples and rubbed, a large smile forming on his face. "…the spirits have led me to the answer."

"There are no spirits, Shawn. In case you've forgotten, you're not really a psychic and you're getting on my nerves," Gus replied. He turned his attention back to his computer and the crossword he was creating. "I'm working here."

"Obviously, what you need is some Simple Minds, my friend. It's the best sort of music for working."

"No, it's not. In fact, I'm not sure it's even considered music."

"You're forgetting I've known you forever and I'm pretty sure that you're the one who used to dress up like the lead singer from Simple Minds."

"I don't even know who they are."

"Simple Minds," he repeated in a tone that said Gus should know this. Shawn shook his head and said, "From Breakfast Club. Your favorite movie."

"It's your favorite movie."

"Same difference," Shawn replied with a shrug. He stood up and danced across the room as he sang, "Won't you come see about me...I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby..."

"Shawn! I'll kill you. And it'll hurt."

"What are you going to do? Suck the air out of my lungs with your super-smeller vacuum of a nose?"

"Don't push me, Shawn. I'm lethal."

Shawn hopped up on Gus's desk, spreading himself out across the top, and glanced at Gus's computer. His smile immediately turned to a frown. "Oh Gus. This is sad, even for you."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Shawn."

"When you said you were doing a crossword, I didn't think you meant you were creating your own."

"Will Shortz has made a nice living creating games like this."

"But it's lame."

"Get off my desk, Shawn. And stop singing…" Gus saw Shawn's mouth start to open and he quickly added, "Don't do anything. You're giving me a headache."

"Someone's in a bad mood today," Shawn replied as he hopped off the desk and flung himself down onto the sofa dramatically. Gus wasn't sure how Shawn managed to always make him feel like the mean one. He wasn't mean. He was the good guy, the person who put up with Shawn Spencer so other people didn't have to.

Shawn sighed, even more dramatically, if such a thing was possible, and flipped on the television. He said, "I'll be over here. Watching crappy soap operas because my geeky best friend prefers crossword puzzles to my company."

Gus rolled his eyes and focused his attention back on thinking of a seven-letter word that ended with "r." He shut his eyes and concentrated, hoping the word would appear out of thin air. He was so close…

"Gus! Gus, get over here."

Gus practically growled. He had warned Shawn that he would kill him. Obviously, it was time to prove it. He stood up, unbuttoning his cuffs and pushing up his sleeves – no need to ruin a good shirt because Shawn was a pest – and stopped abruptly when he saw the scene unfolding on the news.

"How did you do that?" Gus asked, hitting Shawn on the arm.

"Me? I didn't do anything."

"That guy was eaten…"

"…by a zombie. I know!" Shawn finished. He jumped off the sofa and stood next to Gus in front of the television. "I bet the newscaster wasn't expecting that."

Gus glared at Shawn. This was a horrible joke. Shawn knew how much Gus hated zombies ever since they were seven and his cousin convinced him that Great Granny Francine was actually the undead. "This isn't funny, Shawn."

"If we weren't in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, I'd be offended, Gus. I had nothing to do with this," Shawn said, pointing to the television. He winced and said, "I think that was the camera man's arm."

"I'm going to be sick," Gus replied, covering his mouth and gagging.

The television screen flickered for a second before returning to the news room. The anchors' shocked faces surely mirrored his own as they tried to make sense of it. Gus picked up the gist of it – strain of disease released in Santa Barbara, contagious through saliva, turned people into freaking zombies, but don't panic – even though his eyes and brain couldn't stop focusing on the picture of the zombie as it came up on the newscaster.

"Dude, this is awesome."

Gus turned to look at Shawn. Surely, he had heard wrong. Surely, his best friend's insanity did not include a love of zombie attacks. Surely. Gus pointed to their desks and said, "Gather only the things you need and let's get the hell out of here."

"The first interesting thing that's happened in how long and you want to run away screaming like a little girl?"

"Yes. Minus the screaming like a little girl part."

"Gus, I've seen zombie movies. I know how to protect us."

"So do I. Run for our lives and avoid the problem all together."

"Didn't you hear the reporter?"

"No, Shawn, I was too busy watching him get eaten head first."

"That was an interesting feat, even for a zombie."

"I'm leaving. I've seen enough horror movies to know that the black guy dies first."

"Not if he's crazy from his time in 'Nam. Then he lives long enough to kill some shit first," Shawn countered.

"Leaving now."

"You can't. That's my point. All the roads in and out of Santa Barbara are closed. National Guard's been called in to get control of things and they're collecting people by proximity of the disease."

"But that means…"

"We're stuck here."

Gus did not like the sound of that. He did not want to be stuck anywhere that included flesh-eating zombies. And he was more than a little irritated that his best friend seemed to be enjoying this catastrophe.

"Like I said, I'll protect you, Gus."

"Last time you said that, you pushed me into the perpetrator and ran off like Shaggy from Scooby Doo."

"An apocalypse really brings out your nasty side," Shawn replied. He turned the television off and his eyes began searching around the area. He immediately pointed to the corner and said, "Grab the bat."

"A bat? You think a bat will save us from a zombie attack?"

"Well, I'm afraid the flamer thrower is in the shop, honey. We'll have to make do," he said.

When Shawn began to move toward the kitchen, Gus followed on his heels. There was no way he was staying in the front office alone. He was not going to be a zombie appetizer while his best friend got away.

For his part, Shawn didn't say anything as he made his way to the small kitchenette and glanced around. He picked up a bottle of Raid and said, "We should probably get to my dad's house."

"You want us to fight off zombies with a baseball bat and a can of Raid? Are you kidding me?"

"If we get to my father's house, he has his own creepy arsenal. And we're not safe here. That big glass window is great for sunny days, but not so much an attack from zombies."

"Don't make me go outside, Shawn. I don't want to be eaten. I like my body as it is."

"I know, buddy. I know. I'd prefer not to lose appendages either, but we have a better chance of survival somewhere not here."

"We don't even know that there are zombies in this part of town. I mean, what kind of zombie likes the beach?"

"I'm not sure it works like that, Gus," Shawn replied. He tossed the can of Raid to Gus and said, "Let's grab the baseball bat and get out of here. Do you have your keys?"

"They're on my desk."

They both jumped, grabbing onto each other, when the front door opened and the chime announcing customers rang out.

"Oh God, we're going to die!" Shawn cried.

"I'm too young to die. Too young and handsome," Gus commented. Gus held up the Raid, ready to spray.

Shawn pushed the can down at the sound of footsteps and said, "It doesn't sound like zombies."

Gus glared. "I'm not willing to take that chance."

Shawn grabbed the can of Raid from Gus' hand and called out, "Who's there?"

"Where are you guys?" Jules replied.

"And you wanted to attack her," Shawn whispered. He hollered out, "Jules, we're in the back."

Gus and Shawn put some distance between them and Gus wasn't sure how to express his gratitude at her arrival. She was a cop and that meant she had a gun. They could get out of there and maybe he wouldn't have to die in his office after all.

Jules appeared around the corner and said, "Your dad called my cellphone when he couldn't get through to the precinct. We're a little busy right now."

"Zombies roaming the streets will do that," Shawn replied.

Jules smiled – was Gus the only one freaked out about the end of the world and zombies? – and said, "A few of the infected have been caught within a few blocks of here, so I promised your dad I'd get you to his place to wait for evacuation."

Shawn took her hand and said, "Jules, you're our hero."

Gus rolled his eyes. Now was not the time for flirting. He motioned to the doorway and said, "Maybe we should get out of here. Get somewhere safer."

III. The Attack – Wherein It's Not Safer At Shawn's Dad's Place

Things were okay for about twenty minutes after Jules left them at Mr. Spencer's house. They were sitting on the sofa in the living room listening to Henry list optimal survival tactics. Gus was pretty sure that even Shawn's dad was out of his element when it came to zombies.

"Dad. You can't shoot a zombie in the chest. It doesn't work that way. All you'll do is piss it off."

"Well, please explain it to me then, Shawn. Obviously, you've had so much experience with zombie attacks."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "No, but even I know that only fire and decapitation work."

"I thought that was vampires?" Gus questioned.

"No. That's sunlight and silver bullets."

"Silver bullets are for werewolves, Shawn," Henry replied. He rubbed his hand over his face and said, "Our best bet is to keep the lights and everything off as not to call attention to us."

"But don't we want attention from the National Guard? They have to rescue us. I'm not dying with Shawn," Gus said.

"Thanks buddy. I love you too."

Gus was about to respond when a loud growling sound came from the kitchen. Shawn met Gus' gaze and said, "Please tell me that was your stomach."

There was a loud clatter as dishes crashed to the ground and Henry jumped out of his chair and said, "Get into my bedroom."

"Top ten things I never wanted to hear my dad say…"

"Shawn."

"Yes, father, we're coming."

Gus knew he had to move, but he couldn't stop staring as the kitchen door opened and a man in a suit came sliding into the room. He was pale and moving with all his weight on his right side and drool was sliding down his chin. Gus squished his face in disgust and said, "It's transmitted through saliva and that thing is drooling."

"Some zombies just don't understand proper hygiene," Shawn replied. He pulled on Gus's shirt and said, "I think we need to run now."

"This is not what I had in mind when I said 'safer,' Shawn. I'd like that on record," Gus stated as he followed Shawn from the living room to his father's bed room.

Mr. Spencer had pulled out a bunch of shot guns and dumped them on the bed, adding ammo as he went. Shawn pushed Gus into the bedroom and began pushing furniture in front of the door.

"Is that smart? You're blocking our only exit."

"Our only exit is already blocked with zombies," Shawn replied. He motioned to the other end of the bureau and said, "Help me move this."

"I really wish I had that can of Raid," Gus muttered as they slid as much of the heavy furniture in front of the door and windows. He doubted it would really stop a hungry hoard of zombies, but Gus preferred not to think about that.

"Guys, each of you need to grab a gun and try not to shoot your faces off," Mr. Spencer ordered.

"Gus?"

Gus picked up a shotgun, careful to point it away from his face, and responded, "Yeah?"

"I did steal that space ship you built out of popsicle sticks when we were ten."

Gus glared at him and said, "I worked eight months on that space ship. I was going to see if our school library would display it."

"I know. I didn't want to encourage that sort of behavior."

"Sometimes I hate you, Shawn."

"Yeah, you've been a good best friend to me too," Shawn replied, patting Gus on the shoulder. Shawn looked down at the floor for a moment and continued, "Gus?"

"What Shawn?"

"You know how you always thought Ralphie Cotter stole your Twinkies every day at lunch?"

"You didn't."

"Blame my dad. He wouldn't let me enjoy the sugary goodness of the cupcake and filling in one package."

"You got me to pick a fight with him, to demand he stop stealing from me."

"I never liked that kid."

"He hit me, Shawn. Hard. I ended up with a black eye and split lip."

"I know. I'm sorry about that too," Shawn replied, squeezing Gus's shoulder.

Gus pushed his hand away and said, "I'm not getting eaten by a zombie because you're too busy confessing all your sins."

"But you need to know…"

Gus turned to face him and said, "I pretty much know that anything that goes wrong in my life is your fault."

Shawn shook his head and said, "I'm baring my soul and you're being Mr. Grumpy Pants."

"Boys…"

"Baring your soul? You wouldn't need to do that if you listened to me when I said we should run! We would be safe in a non-soul-baring location."

"There was nowhere to run."

"BOYS…"

"And don't call me Mr. Grumpy Pants or Mr. Grumpy Puss or…"

"...the jackal?"

"Shut up, Shawn."

"Both of you shut up and point those guns at the doors," Shawn's father interrupted.

Gus turned his attention to the door where something was trying to get in. He gulped – this was not on his approved list of ways to die – and said, "I really hate zombies."

"Me too," Shawn replied.

IV. Present Time (Again) – Wherein Things Are As Normal As They Can Get After a Zombie Attack

"Gus…"

Gus groaned. He had finally gotten comfortable.

"Gus…" Shawn replied in a sing-song voice.

Gus opened his eyes and found Shawn hovering over him with a goofy smile on his face. Shawn reached down to pinch his cheek, earning an irritated swat from Gus, and said, "Who's the cutest zombie attack survivor? I think it's you. Yes, I do."

"Shut up, Shawn!" Gus stretched out and stood up. He glanced around the immediate area and said, "Done spinning tales?"

"Those girls were riveted by our heroics, my friend. They want to meet up later with both of us."

"I don't know. I might be cowering in a corner somewhere," Gus replied.

"So I embellished a little." Gus arched his eyebrows. "Okay, a lot. But they were really hot. And emotional. Easy prey for two hot guys like us."

"We are good looking."

"And not flesh-eating zombies, which gives us a leg up on a lot of the male competition."

"Where's your dad?" Gus asked.

"Last time I saw him he had crashed on one of the cots. I'll never admit this to him, but he comes in handy sometimes."

"Especially since you can't aim a gun to save your life."

"Me? What about you? My father was muttering about the hole you shot in the wall the entire ride to the shelter."

"At least I hit something."

"A wall. Good job. I'm sure it learned its lesson."

"Go away, Shawn."

"Fine. I mean, those four girls were really interested in hearing tales of your crossword puzzle writing ventures, but I guess I'll have to entertain them by myself."

"I get first pick."

"Don't you always?"

"No."

Shawn smiled and said, "Well, you do today. And I really am sorry about the space ship and the Twinkies."

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not." Before Gus could move, Shawn placed his hand on Gus's shoulder and said, "But, for the record, there's no one I would've rather gone through a zombie apocalypse with."

"I'd prefer Halle Berry," Gus replied. He met Shawn's gaze and shrugged, "But you were an okay fill in."

"Gus, keep sweet talking me and those girls will have to fight me for a piece of you."

"Shut up, Shawn," Gus commented, walking toward the cafeteria. Despite zombie attacks and possible apocalypses, Shawn was the same guy he had always been. Some things would never change and, for that, Gus was grateful.

Fin