Be Mischievous And You Will Not Be Lonesome

by silverluna

"Henry made a face. Shawn squirmed against his side, trying to get comfortable. He rested his chin on Henry's shoulder. He felt Gus doing the same on his other side." Fic for a friend who wanted Henry, Gus, and Shawn forced into sharing a bed. NOT SLASH.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I also do not own references/affiliations with Cop Rock, Glee, Viva Laughlin, the Hookman urban legend, or to Dr. Seuss' Hop on Pop, and all fortunes in the story, including the one that is the title, are credited to this website: http:/www[dot]chinese-fortune-cookie[dot]com/fortune-cookie-quotes[dot]html

Minor references to Season Two's "The Old And The Restless" and "Ghosts", Season Three's "Talk Derby To Me", and Season Five's "Not Even Close . . . Encounters".

Genre: Fluff, Humor

Characters: Shawn, Gus, Henry

Summary: Henry made a face. Shawn squirmed against his side, trying to get comfortable. He rested his chin on Henry's shoulder. He felt Gus doing the same on his other side.

Character fantasy for SydneyWoo, who wanted a "story where shawn/gus/henry are forced to share a bed." Hope you like it!

Author's Note: Reviews, feedback, and constructive criticism welcome and appreciated. :)

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Be Mischievous And You Will Not Be Lonesome . . . In Bed*

*NOT AT ALL suggestive as it possibly sounds. XD I promise!

A Psych Story

by silverluna

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Present:

"O'Hara," Lassiter whispered hoarsely. "O'Hara."

After more than a natural pause, Juliet blinked, forcing her parted lips to close, then moved her head in her partner's direction. "What?" she whispered back.

"Are you seeing this?"

Juliet moved her head back to the sight in front of her. She blinked a few times again, to be sure. Even then, she wasn't. "I am," she said finally. "Are you?"

Granted, the room was dimly lit with just a small lamp on in a far corner, but the shapes before them were not that hard to make out. Neither even needed to squint. When Lassiter spoke, Juliet could tell he was grinning.

"I sure as hell am."

Juliet rolled her eyes, but noted that both of them continued to speak in whispers, as if it were taboo to do otherwise. After all, three of this room's five occupants were fast asleep.

"O'Hara," Lassiter whispered again. He was still grinning.

"What?"

"Bet you my phone can take a better picture."

"Carlton, we have the same phones."

He turned his head in her direction, the fiendishness in his profile almost causing his teeth to glint. "Dare you," he whispered. He was already reaching for his pocket, about to be as quick on the draw as when he went for his Glock. "Double dare you," he said, a harder edge to his whisper.

"You're on!" Juliet breathed.

# # #

Two or three hours or so earlier . . .

"You're all wet!" Henry reproached, whipping his head side to side like a giant snapping turtle. Someone was about to lose fingers. "Get off me!" He pushed against the two bodies crowding him on a space not meant for three people to share.

"If we huddle together, we can conserve warmth!" Gus said. He had no problem snuggling into Henry's plushy side.

"Gus!" Henry took to pushing Gus away by the legs. Shawn, on the other side, took full advantage, snuggling up. At this point, he didn't care. Gus had a good point, and he was freezing. In spite of the two of them having striped off their outer shirts which were sopping wet—both pretending that their undershirts were not also plastered to their skin, pretending until Henry begrudgingly lent them dry shirts—both refused to take off pants, something which was making Henry madder than it should have. Probably because their wet legs were soaking his all dry ensemble, not to mention the bed beneath them. Yet there wasn't anyway he would let them near him if they were just in boxers. There had to be boundaries. Both Shawn and Gus had tried to pull a pilling cotton blanket across them, but Henry had batted it away. He didn't want to stay, didn't, literally, want to be in the middle of this.

"Isn't enough I drove out in the pouring rain to pick up you two jokels?" Henry hissed. He'd abandoned pushing on Gus, who'd gone boneless, and was trying to body slam Shawn off the edge of the bed. Shawn dug his nails into the blankets, gripping the bed frame till his knuckles blanched.

"Jokels?" Shawn repeated. "What's that, a mashup of jokers and yokels?" He raised up slightly to peer over Henry at Gus. "Is that even legal?" Gus shrugged.

"What's a mashup?" Henry asked, momentarily forgetting his mission. Actually, it felt good to lie still. His back was killing him, thanks to a minor spill he'd taken at home, in his kitchen, just that afternoon. He hadn't even gotten out of the truck when he'd retrieved the pair, roadside, as they waited in Gus's broken down company car, but sitting upright behind the driver's seat had really done him in. The pair dashed for the cab as soon as Henry pulled up, but the sprinting hardly mattered with the way the rain was coming down. They had been nearly soaked to the bone in just a few seconds and he'd had to listen to their teeth chattering all the way back to the hotel room he'd rented. His house was off-limits for a few days due to a rodent infestation; if he had less morals and more sense he would have hired Lassiter to get rid of the problem. Off the books. Under the table. It would have been a riot, the two most hardened rule followers being secretive about rodent kill, handing off cash hand to hand.

This whole thing had started because Shawn and Gus wanted to go to a new Chinese takeout halfway across town in spite of Gus's car acting up. They said they had been craving fortune cookies.

Maybe this whole thing had started because Henry had answered his cell phone, had mistaken his son's teeth chattering for panicky tones.

Or rather, they amended, they had been craving silly paper fortunes; they sat at the cheap booths, nibbling Beef Lo Mein and Orange Chicken, and read each other fortunes from the bag of individually wrapped cookies Shawn had managed to procure. The rain was just a fine mist when they left the Psych office; not even Gus had checked the weather.

"What is so damn special about that takeout that other takeouts just down the road don't have?" Henry griped when they got into the pickup's cab. He was furious that neither of the boys had heeded his warning of not to get in all wet; distantly, he considered ordering them to walk behind the car. Or perhaps he was just resentful he'd been pulled out of his dry hotel room at eleven o'clock at night.

"Food poisoning," Shawn had quipped, his teeth chattering wildly.

"New food poisoning," Gus added. "Because it's new."

The pair, looking at one another, broke into hiccupy, wet, chattering giggles. "It's new, in bed," Shawn giggled.

Henry rolled his eyes; he'd been tempted to ask if they'd been drinking, but it was more likely they were wired up on caffeine or too much sugar.

Shawn and Gus broke apart the cookies as they ate, trading the printed fortunes and not failing to add "in bed" to the end of each, a silly thing Gus had learned about while in college; those two little additives spurned enough inappropriate commentary that they had gotten looks from workers at the counter. Then, the evil eye. Gus didn't think much of it; it was a wonder they weren't thrown out of more places because of what came out of Shawn's mouth.

"A thrilling time is in your immediate future," Gus read, "in bed."

"Your everlasting patience will be rewarded sooner or later, in bed."

"You know it," Gus agreed. "Whaaat?" Shawn broke into giggles, prompting Gus to demand what Shawn's laughter really meant. Shawn only laughed harder. "Dude," Gus muttered. He broke open another one. "There is a true and sincere friendship between you and your friends . . . in bed." He made a face.

Shawn's face scrunched up too. "That was the worst possible one to add 'in bed' to," he commented. "Unless all yours friends, Gus, are the members of a hot female athlete sports team." Shawn grinned. "Like roller derby."

Gus winced. "That's not funny, Shawn." He waved his hand. "Quick, try another one."

Shawn opened another, and began to read. "A member of your fam—"

"Stop!" Gus implored. He put his hands over his ears and began to chant "Lalalalalalalala."

Shawn, looking disgusted, balled up the fortune and tossed it over his left shoulder.

"Why are you littering?" Gus demanded, stopping his chanting.

"It's not littering," Shawn said. "It's for good fortune."

"You're supposed to do that if you spill salt! Not paper!"

"Oh, well." Shawn reached out, knocked over the salt and pepper shakers just for good measure.

"Shawn!"

"Relax, Gus, they're empty. What are you supposed to do then?"

"Read another fortune," Gus grumbled. He righted the shakers and pushed them out of Shawn's way.

"Your great attention to detail is both a blessing and a curse . . . in bed."

They managed five seconds of silence, staring straight at each other before losing it completely. They were still laughing about it when they were finally asked to leave, were finally escorted to the door, when they outside in the full-on rain.

# # #

Henry hadn't actually intended for the sopping wet pair to stay for any length of time at his rented room; but his back protested the drive and demanded painkillers immediately, so Henry thought he'd take a short detour to the hotel for a couple of aspirin. Plus, it might not hurt if Shawn and Gus were able to warm up a bit. They beat him to the door, whining to be let in as Henry lumbered there, more slowly. "Some gratitude," he grumbled, retrieving his key.

It had been his mistake to lie down in the first place. The bed was only a full size; Henry hadn't thought much of it, when he booked the room. The plan was only to stay for a day or two.

The plan had been to not share the bed with anyone. It was late and getting later, and two of the room's occupants might or might not have been "main-lining" sugar since five o'clock. Happy hour. They'd crashed, walking back to Gus's car in the rain, but remained somewhat wired until they got inside.

"You don't know what we've been through!" Shawn insisted, ignoring Henry's groaning. Henry pretended not to listen as the pair told him about their contest in the office earlier, about how many malt balls they could shove into their mouths at once. "I won," Shawn stated proudly.

"You d-did not!" Gus countered, still shivering. "I got thirty-three!"

"No, you didn't!" Shawn shot back. "Thirty-two! You bit down on one, that doesn't count! Therefore, you forfeited!"

"If I forfeited, then how did I still get to pick what we ate for dinner?"

"The contest was to pick the where, not the what!"

Henry groaned again. He'd tried closing his eyes, but their voices just got louder.

"Then we had to walk through that monsoon to find Gus's car," Shawn eventually continued. "Then we get in and it went three feet and choked."

"No," Gus said, sniffing. "It was five miles. Is it really cold in here or is just me?"

Henry had taken to staring at the ceiling. He wished the aspirin would kick in so he could get back up, but he felt himself longing for sleep. It wouldn't hurt to close his eyes for a handful of seconds, right?

Right.

Henry jerked awake, admittedly, after he felt the weight on either side of him. At first he was too confused to be outraged; it wore off slowly. His legs were getting wet. It dawned on him he was getting squished, and that the whole bed was starting to smell like wet dog.

Shawn and Gus were whispering, whisper-fighting, Henry realized eventually, right through his body. "You check it out!" one of them demanded.

"No, you!"

"Don't be a baby!"

"Says you!"

"Says me! Now go!"

"You go!"

Before Henry learned the reason of their sneak attack, he started pushing on them, disbelieving that both were huddled on either side of him, refusing to get up.

"You don't know what a mashup is?" Gus asked, somewhat incredulous. He was still managing to stay boneless enough on his side that it might take the great strength of at least ten men to move him. "Don't you ever watch Glee?"

Henry frowned, trying to get his thoughts together. "Is that the one with the singing cops?"

Gasps on either side of him, then a fit of giggles. "I'm telling everyone!" Shawn blurted, laughing. He hiccuped, then his voice became serious. "Wait, I can't tell anyone. Dad, don't you know how embarrassing that will be for me? If people found out you watched Viva Laughlin?"

"Shawn, he meant Cop Rock," Gus told him quietly.

For few moments, the only sounds were Henry's grunts as he tried again to push the two of them off the bed. He wondered if it had been a dare in the handful of seconds he'd been unconscious—who could scramble onto the bed with him the fastest or the nimblest, or if their intention had been to jump on him—Hop on Pop—and they'd both missed. He was lucky, he supposed, that they were older now; they had already jumped on him once, when they were twelve, on a dare.

"I can't believe you," Shawn finally gasped, sounding disgusted.

"It was entertaining!" Gus threw out.

"Forget it!" Henry yelled. He was entirely unsuccessful in moving either of them. The bed was too soft, and he was the heaviest weight in the middle. "What the hell do you two think you're doing?"

"Taking a nap. We're just three grown men, taking a nap," Gus said. "So what if it's on the same bed? There's plenty of room."

Henry glared at him. Gus shrugged.

"Come on, Dad, I told you about our tortuous ordeal tonight. Half a mile in the rain and then Gus's car breaks down, then we had to wait, like, twenty minutes for you to answer the phone." Shawn bumped his head on Henry's shoulder as if trying to fluff a pillow. A very stubborn, grumpy pillow. "We're tired. You're tired, obviously, too. Don't you want to take a five minute nap?"

"Or maybe fifteen? Fifteen minute power naps optimize your all day energy," Gus stated.

Henry growled. "Shawn," he warned, sending a look of warning in Gus's direction. Gus cowered a little but didn't budge.

"Gus heard a noise," Shawn confessed.

"No, I didn't, Shawn! You did!" His teeth were still chattering, minutely.

"A noise?" Henry repeated irritably.

"It sounded like a chainsaw," Gus described. "Right outside the door!"

"It was not a chainsaw," Shawn said, exasperated. "It was screeching noise, like the Hookman dragging his hook hand across a car door."

"You've got to be kidding me," Henry said, rolling his eyes. He listened, unwillingly, as the two went back and forth describing what was likely the squeaky wheel of a service cart in the hallway until both of them were worked up. "So why get on the bed with me?" he asked when the pair finally shut up. They were breathing scared.

"Safety in numbers," Gus said. "Three against one."

"Plus, you were a cop. Sometimes that works to an advantage," Shawn said. "Then again, sometimes it's better to be a psychic. Depending on the odds."

Henry's head was starting to hurt. He chose to ignore Shawn's comments, asking instead, "So you want me to protect you two from some ax wielding maniac who's already killed the rest of the occupants of this hotel?" He had no idea he was almost shouting until he heard his son tell him to tone it down. He groaned. Sometimes it was too hard not to get sucked into Shawn and Gus's world of silly hysteria; why did he still try to fight against it?

"You think either of us want to be crammed onto this bed with you?" Shawn asked indignantly. "Am I right, Gus?"

"Heck yes," Gus piped up. "No offense."

Henry made a sarcastic noise.

"Come on, Dad," Shawn tried again. "Remember when we all fell asleep in your truck outside of Glorious Pines? We were in public. Someone could have seen us."

"Taken pictures," Gus added.

"Exactly. Could you have imagined the blackmail? Especially because one of you was drooling."

"That was you, Shawn."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"Was not."

"Where's your proof?"

Henry put more force into pushing them away, hating that their combined body heat was starting to make this situation feel cozy. For some reason this reminded him of camping with the boys' cub scout troop—the night the two of them had scrambled into his tent, their fists digging into his side like claws after two many scary campfire tales. Kids that age were excellent at feeding each other's suggestions about just what might be out there, unseen.

But this time, he had no empathy—Shawn and Gus were no longer children, and this was his bed. "Get out!"

"No!"

"Go to sleep, Mr. Spencer," Gus whispered.

Henry made a face. Shawn squirmed against his side, trying to get comfortable. He rested his chin on Henry's shoulder. He felt Gus doing the same on his other side. Their heads were heavy and when they turned onto their sides, their arms fell against his chest and locked him into place. Henry cursed under his breath, annoyed to see both of them with their eyes closed. He was working up his anger, fully intending to shout them from the bed, but all he managed was a hoarse, "You both owe me." He didn't believe that two of them could fall asleep in sync, or that fast, but for some reason they would not budge. He was still ticked off that their wet pant legs had made his wet as well.

Henry cast a glance at Shawn. His son looked peaceful, but there was a tiny smirk on his lips, so he couldn't be all the way to sleep yet. Henry rolled his eyes and glanced at Gus, noticing for the first time that Gus was shivering slightly. Sighing, he freed a hand from the side of his body to test Gus's forehead. Gus felt cool enough to the touch. Gus made an unintelligible whimpering sound and shuffled his feet a little against the bed. Then he snuggled closer to Henry, his breathing deeper. Carefully, Henry shook his head, then pressed it back against the rather flat hotel pillow. Already, he felt Shawn's drool seeping onto his shoulder.

His back was finally starting to relax, or maybe it was just that he was sinking into the bed. It was getting harder to resist closing his eyes.

Just as Henry was about to drift off, someone kicked him. He jerked awake with the same level of alertness as earlier. At his left ear, he heard one of them—Gus?—uttering the soft whimpering sounds every few breaths. His right shoulder, Henry realized slowly, was soaked. In the dimly lit room, he cast a glance to his right and saw his son's mouth open next to Henry's shirt. It was also Shawn's knees that were dug into his side; Shawn had curled up into a ball. Stifling a groan, he pushed halfheartedly at the pair still encroaching upon his space. Little came of it. Oh, yes, this was remarkably similar to that night the cub scouts went camping.

He sighed. Both of them were fast asleep. He wondered about, for no reason in particular, which one of them had made up the noise, and why they had retreated towards him for some kind of imagined safety.

# # #

Present:

Shawn wasn't sure what had woken him, but he could make out whispering, then, shapes at the end of the bed. There was a chance he could be dreaming.

He really, really, really, really, really hoped he was dreaming.

"Jules? Lassie?" Shawn rubbed his eyes, struggling to sit up. Henry's weight in the middle of the bed anchoring him wasn't helping. "This is not as bad as it looks." He blinked a few times. "What are you doing here?"

"We got a tip," Lassiter said, "about some ax wielding maniac who's killed the all the occupants of this hotel." He raised an eyebrow. "A member of the cleaning staff overheard those words coming from this very room. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Shawn wondered if they could tell how white his face looked through this dim light. Lassiter was smirking and Juliet was trying hard not to smile. Either Gus or Henry snored softly, still oblivious to their unexpected guests. He forced himself to smile, and settled back down next to Henry. Gus made a whimpery noise, momentarily diverting the detectives' attention. "Right," Shawn said, raising his fingers to his temples. "This is only a dream. I, Shawn Spencer, have been endowed with the good fortune of straying into the dream world of the great Junior Detective Juliet O'Hara."

Juliet sighed and Lassiter started in about the disgraces of making false claims to the police, but Shawn started humming to cover the noise. He closed his eyes. "In the dream world I can commune with anyone there. And in this world," Shawn continued, "I find it crucial to say this, so I can leave you with a very generous wish from a very wise—and brand new—fortune cookie. 'All your dreams will come true,' in bed."

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The End