Disclaimer: I do not own Psych :c I also don't own Jaws. This story is for pure entertainment only.

Takes place somewhere in the 5th season, but there are no spoilers.

I'd like to thank Zen Clarke, my fantabulous friend, for reading over the story and listening to my rambling ideas. I'd also like to thank Skyler Gisondo, without which this story wouldn't exist. :)

Juliet O'Hara stared at the black binder Shawn Spencer, local psychic extraordinaire, held in his hand. Someone (most likely said psychic) had scrawled in White-Out "BFFs 4evr" and doodled two smiling stick figures beneath that. They were holding hands and were labeled "Shawn and Gus".

"What's that?" She asked with a smile and a head tilt. Shawn dropped the binder on her desk, scattering all the case files that were, until recently, tidy and organized.

"Why, it's only THE Tome of Friendship. Sacred Text of all that is Shawn and Gus. The Journal to the Center of Our Souls."

Juliet gave him a look.

"Don't ask me. Gus got the idea."

"No I did not, Shawn," the Gus in particular said, his signature expression of annoyance on his face.

Shawn paused. Pursed his lips. Tilted his head. He looked at his best friend. "Well then, Gus, if I didn't make this and if you didn't make this, that only means that we have a crazed stalker. But that is the least of our concerns! Gather 'round, children, for story time begins!"

Shawn opened the binder with a flourish, revealing a cover page. Chicken-scratch proclaimed, "Gus will never go in the water again (not that he does anyway!)" The next picture looked suspiciously similar to the Jaws poster, except Shawn's head played the shark and an annoyed Gus swam right above him.

Juliet opened and closed her mouth like a fish. Gus gave Shawn a long and hard look. Taking the page in her hand, Juliet turned to the next photo.

This one showed a picture of a smiling Shawn and a still annoyed Gus riding on the same bare-back horse. Except Shawn's skin was wrinkly and tan and Gus was just a shade too light and a figure too feminine.

"Uh, Shawn..." Juliet started. The psychic stopped her with a hand wave.

"Juliet, I know what you want to ask. Gus and I were in our prime when this picture was taken. Sadly, we've both let ourselves go."

Gus didn't say anything. His previous Look had evolved into a Death Glare, which was currently trying to use Laser Vision. It wasn't very effective.

Shawn took the reins from Juliet and flipped through the scrapbook, if it could be called that. Though a few pages featured a genuine Shawn and Gus (whether they be children, mustached, or, thanks to a site Shawn discovered while bored one day, old men), most seemed a bit... shopped. Shawn continued to babble on about the "adventures" he and Gus shared, Juliet continued to smile and giggle at the more ridiculous pictures, and Gus continued to bore holes in Shawn's head.

Towards the end of the album, the photos became less idealized and more of the friends' youth. There were quite a few sweet ones: Shawn and Gus playing Battleship, Shawn and Gus showing off their bikes, Shawn and Gus playing basketball, Shawn and Gus at Boy Scouts...

"Wait, flip back a page," Juliet said. She didn't even wait for Shawn, choosing to grab the page and turn it back to the basketball game. Her blue eyes narrowed, and she pointed to the lighter of the boys. "Who's this?"

"Why Jules, I haven't matured that much, have I?" Shawn asked.

"You haven't matured at all, Shawn."

"Gus, don't be a skipping stone that doesn't skip!"

"Guys!" Juliet held her hands up. "Seriously, Shawn who is that kid?"

Shawn leaned closer, squinting. The boy Juliet pointed at was dribbling a basketball and trying to work his way around the young Gus. He had sleepy eyes and his hair was scruffy, light brown with a reddish tint to it. A closer examination revealed freckles splattered on his cheeks.

"Well, Jules, I do believe the answer is obvious. The child who is quite obviously kicking Gus' posterior in that game of basketball is me."

"Shawn, you know that I was feeling bad that day!"

"Stop making up silly excuses. I mean, you can just tell that..."

While the two friends bickered, Juliet frowned. She stared at the picture a bit longer, then turned the page to the Boy Scout photo. "Okay, so who's that?"

Shawn broke off the argument to take a look. This next boy she pointed to was just a tad fairer. His hair was shaggy but not as unkempt as the other's, and not a blemish appeared on his face. On top of that, his eyes seemed more alert.

"Jules, why must you be so dense? That is, once again, me."

Juliet stared. Then she turned the page. Then she stared again. She looked into the distance. Maybe some kind soul had written the answer on the wall? Nope. The only sort of answer, if it could be called that, was a certain middle-aged detective. A light bulb went off in Juliet's head.

"Carlton!" The senior detective looked up from his papers. Juliet waved a hand over and, not without grumbling, Carlton "Lassie-face" Lassiter joined the trio.

"What do you want, Spencer." For the only reason O'Hara would want him over there was because of the annoying psychic.

"Lassie! Did you get that coffee for me?" Shawn reached for the mug in Lassiter's hands. The head detective jerked it away, splashing a few precious drops over the rim. Lassiter's face changed from annoyed to mournful. How he needed that sweet ambrosia...

"Carlton, look at this picture," Juliet instructed. He did. For several seconds.

"What am I supposed to be seeing here?"

"Nothing yet. Now, look at this picture." His partner turned the page to the picture of the Scout troop. Lassie stared. Then took a sip of coffee. Then stared again.

The extent of his observations was, "That's a pathetic Boy Scout Troop."

Jules rolled her eyes. "Come on, Head Detective. What's the difference between these two pictures?" She flipped the pages back and forth, back and forth. Basketball, Boy Scouts, basketball, Boy Scouts.

"All I'm seeing is Gus playing with his friends, O'Hara. Not really an Earth-shattering thing."

"No? That's Gus playing with Shawn. In both photos, it's Shawn and Gus."

Lassiter took another sip of coffee and frowned (well, frowned deeper than usual). This time, he turned the page.

"How far apart are these photos?"

"Come on, Lassie-face! A page!"

"You know what I mean, Spencer!"

The psychic shrugged. "I don't know. A month, a year? The Scout's is older."

Lassiter flipped another page. "Why do you look completely different in both shots?"

"I have no clue what you mean. Any idea what he means, Gus?"

"No idea."

"Exactly. Have you been drinking too much coffee recently? I see the same me in both pictures."

"No, Shawn, Carlton's right. You do look different."

"Well, Jules, the obvious explanation is that I finally achieved manhood. Became of age. Reached puberty."

Lassiter huffed. He glared at the Scout shot. It was mocking him. Mocking him. No one mocked him, not the pictures, not the press, and certainly not Shawn Spencer! He peeled the photo off the page (ignoring Spencer's "Hey!"s) and set it next to the basketball photo. Compared them side-by-side instead of the annoying flip-by-flip.

Yes. The two boys in question were definitely different. He took pains to point out the different heights, weights, facial features, coloring. Every little detail of each picture contributed to his point. Irrefutable proof. Spencer couldn't say they were both Young Shawns.

But, after each bit of evidence, Shawn and Gus just exchanged a look and shook their heads. "That's definitely me, man. I don't get what makes you think otherwise."

In the end, Lassiter took a deep breath and told his partner that if she needed him, he'd be in the Shooting Range. Juliet looked after him, biting her lip, and told Shawn she'd have to talk to him later. As the two partners walked (or, in Lassie's case, fumed) off, Shawn and Gus exchanged a surreptitious fist-bump.

"Any clue who that freckled kid really was?"

"Really, Gus? Do you really think I'd know the identity of some random kid that looks nowhere near as cute and cuddly as I did?"

"Well, you did put him in our scrapbook."

"It's not a scrapbook, Gus: it's the Tome of Friendship."

"I've heard it both ways."

"Dude, that's my line!"

"Damn straight."

The End