Title: Death Is in the Air(port)

Author: nao_asakura, aka SuperMiss

Summary: Shawn, Gus and Lassie end up on the same plane; so do an US Marshall and a convict. This can't end well... Featuring peanuts, mysterious deaths, terrorist threats, handcuffs, wobbly POV changes and funky dialogues, oh my.

A/N: When I first watched season 4, I knew nothing about each episode but the title. And I thought Death Is in the Air was going to take place aboard a plane; I was really thrilled about the idea (even though the whole virus episode was awesome.) There is no link whatsoever with that episode, the idea only came from the title. Blame my imagination.

OoOoO

"Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts while the hostess will show you the emergency exits and..."

All the while the disincarnated voice was resounding through the plane speakers, Shawn had been trying to open a bag of peanuts, which seemed to be giving him a hard time. He was attacking it with his teeth while attempting to speak in the meantime. But Gus didn't even hear him; he was too intent on following the hostess' indications in case of emergency landing and so forth.

"Man, you really should relax," Shawn said. "Here, have a peanut," he added, handing him the freshly opened bag.

But Gus was no longer listening to him, or to the hostess for that matter. He had spotted something way more interesting – and slightly terrifying. However, as Shawn would have said, Gus found every interesting part in live 'slightly terrifying', and – Gus shushed his inner voice, which resembled strangely Shawn's, and shook his friend's arm, his eyes never leaving the tall man approaching their row.

"Shawn, it's—"

"Lassiface!" The psychic had suddenly jumped to his feet, hitting his head on the overhead locker. "Ow, my hair!" came the pained exclamation a second later.

"Spencer!" A bark, and then sputter. Considering that, and the color the Head Detective's face turned into, one could say he wasn't happy to see them here.

The hostess took Lassiter's ticket from his hands while he was trying to utter something – probably mean and vaguely threatening – and ushered him towards his seat. Which happened to be next to Shawn's, who was now grinning like a madman.

"Dude, this flight is gonna be so—"

"Not a word, Spencer... Well, actually, how did the two of you—"

But Shawn was already in full psychic mode. "Why, Lassiface, you don't like this awesome coincidence? It's like the whole universe is trying to tell us something. Oh, Lassie, the spirits, they..."

He raised a hand to place his fingertips on his temple, and he stretched his other arm to touch Lassiter, who slapped his hand away.

OoOoO

"You really won tickets to visit the set of Leverage?" Lassiter seemed incredulous.

"Well, it appears so, since I'm currently eating peanuts on a plane," said Shawn with a mouthful and a mischievous smile.

"They seemed legit," Gus added. "Plus there is no way we're going to end up in Mexico this time, which is a good point in my book." Canada was always a possibility, but it seemed less frightening to Gus, so he didn't mention it.

"And what about you, Lassiface?" Shawn asked, joyous.

"Don't call me that," was the flippant answer he got. Then, when Lassiter realized he would not be able to spend the entire flight ignoring the overactive psychic, he consented to answer.

"I'm attending to a conference, nothing of interest for you." Then he went back to sulking; the perspective of having to spend nearly three hours in a flying tin can next to the annoying psychic was pushing him on the verge of a panic attack but he didn't want to show any of it.

"Is it about guns?" Shawn asked, inquisitive as a child who wouldn't get his clue to shut up. "Laser guns?"

"Those don't even exist, Shawn," said Gus, looking through the window.

"They don't exist yet."

A sigh from Lassiter, then he developed: "Actually, it's a conference on drugs."

"Oh, right, too bad it's not in Vegas. That could have made a cool remake."

"What are you on about?" Lassiter was pissed off, mostly because he didn't always get Spencer's crazy references.

"That would make me Benicio Del Toro," Gus added, immediately getting the allusion to Fear and Loathing, "and you would be Johnny Depp."

"No way I'm bald!" Shawn cried, horrified.

"That will happen, one day," said Lassiter. "And I hope to be there to see that," he added with a quick smile, while Shawn was looking at his hair in the reflection of Gus' window.

"You—" But they never heard what Lassiter was going to say. The Head Detective had stopped, mouth slightly open, and he was staring at the plane entrance, where an US Marshall was currently standing. Stiff, tall, clad in a perfectly ironed uniform; jaw locked and eyes watching every corner as if he was expecting an attack of some kind. He yanked a smaller man in front of him, a little forcefully, maybe, while the other passengers were all gaping.

The other man was trussed up like a turkey, although he didn't seemed very threatening, in Shawn's opinion. He did look a bit like a turkey, though; small, with pot belly. His face was unshaven and his eyes sunken. He just went along as the Marshall pushed him in his back.

Shawn and Gus were staring, eyes bright with excitement, as if it was Christmas or something. "This flight is going to be awesome," Shawn whispered.

"What do you think the shabby guy did?" Gus wondered aloud.

"You two are idiots," Lassiter concluded. Then he added between his teeth: "I can't believe they let him take his sidearm."

"Lassie is jealous." Shawn nudged Gus in the arm with his elbow, grinning.

"Of course I am. He gets all the glory and admiration from idiots, and all I get is you two, bothering the crap out of me. There's no way this could get worse."

"There could be snakes," Shawn provided helpfully.

"Or Langoliers," Gus added, nodding.

"Oh my God, you two really never stop, do you?" Lassiter sighed, and some part of him was praying for trouble during the flight, just to distract him from his unwanted companions.

OoOoO

"And that's how I ended up divining that it was in fact the sweet old granny who had killed those three men."

"Shawn, quit annoying the lady with your stories." It was mostly the fact that he was left out of them that bothered Gus.

"My awesome stories, you mean," Shawn corrected.

"He means cut the crap, Spencer, we're tired of hearing about your psychic exploits," Lassiter said grumpily. And the plane hadn't even taken off yet.

"Watch your mouth, Lassiface." He blinked playfully to the woman, who was hiding behind a flight prospectus, looking really uneasy. "It's nothing but a true story."

"I was there too," Gus felt the need to add with a wide smile, using his smooth voice.

Across the alley, the small man in cuffs was listening intensely, a frown barring his forehead.

OoOoO

The plane had taken off according the schedule, and all Gus and Shawn had managed to gather was that the Marshall was escorting a convict to Portland. Gus didn't think he looked like a killer or an evil mastermind, but appearances could be deceptive, so he was turning back every five seconds to watch them from between the seats.

"Gus, calm down or you'll end up with a wry neck."

"I can't, I'm making sure no one's trying to kill us."

"You're not very discreet," was Lassiter's sarcastic comment.

"Alright, alright." Shawn stood up, throwing his crumpled peanuts wrapper on his seat. "I'll see if I can gather some psychic vibes about them on my way to the little boys' room."

Then he managed to jump/fall on Lassiter's lap, who uttered indignant protests, and quickly pushed him away, the happy psychic not even bothering to apologize.

When he came back, he started acting all suspicious and wary. He stopped making jokes, and began watching the Marshall from across the plane with a dark eye and a scowl, but he wouldn't say what was wrong.

Lassiter deduced that he was just being annoying and had found a new way to express himself; Gus presumed he had some kind of proof that the convict was indeed an evil mastermind and/or a serial killer.

OoOoO

"Is there a doctor on the plane?" someone yelled from the back.

"At last!" said Shawn, jumping to his feet. "Some action."

"Spencer, where do you think you're going?" growled Lassiter, raising from his seat.

"You're no doctor, Shawn, and someone could be hurt," said Gus, not even bothering to stand up.

"Don't be a rusty teapot, Gus. Besides, I think I know who's in trouble, or worse."

Gus and Lassiter exchanged a silent look before both going after the springy faux psychic.