Hi guys: welcome to my first Psych-o longfic! If you love overprotective Jules, Gus eating every edible items, Shawn being himself and Lassie in every shades, this is you place. Serious note: I love writing this story, but chapters are pretty long, so updating won't be speedy. Let me know what you prefer, if short but fast episodes or this solution. I'm open to suggestion. It's settled, well, somewhere between fourth and fifth season, in what I think as the Psych Golden Age.

Okay, let's begin, and I really hope you would enjoy the ride. Reviews make me a better person.

"Pick on Shawn" Day

- in which Shawn Spencer gets repeatedly threatened by his own friends and an old friend comes from the past-

After years of dutiful observation, Juliet O'Hara had identified three phases in her partner's bad moods, and she had also learned to recognize them with nearly infallible precision. As in every good investigation, the secret was in the details.

The first step was the Bland Grumpiness, the most manageable one: some more yells than usual, snapping remarks to every poor thing crossing his path, McNab summoned imperiously every minute. A sprinkle of cocoa powder on the coffee and a jackass to grill in the interrogation room, and he would be almost tolerable.

Then there was the Danger Zone Grumpiness, which means improbable aphorisms through gritted teeth, alarming twitches on the gun holster and a walk likely to run over his grandma's body; but all you need to do is chastise him during a stakeout and offer him a Vanilla Cola at the end of the shift. Nothing special.

And the third one, well, the third one was the Blue Grumpiness, when he became a sort of gloomy, rancorous beast roaming around the precinct. It usually meant not only that he was really pissed off, but that someone had hurt him badly; and it's was the worst one, because it made you miserable both as partner and spiritual sister.

At twelve o'clock she was sure it was the third one. Carlton was a ball of rage sulking on his chair, and aside form the curses thrown to two terrorized rookies, he didn't say a word in the whole morning.

She furrowed her brow. -Detective, are you okay?- He generally reacted to the "detective" part.

-Sure. Why?-

She glanced at the wrecked thing sprawled over his desk. -You had practically tortured that burrito.-

He froze with the fork midair. -I'm just eating.-

-Usually eating doesn't imply stabbing food like a serial killer.- She shook her heard. -Seriously, Carlton, you should calm down a bit. Come on, it's your favorite, cheese and apple chutney.-

For a terrible moment she was sure he would throw someone the food and the desk as well, but instead he just kept staring at the snack. He suddenly began to talk, mesmerized.

-Yes, you're right, O'Hara: burritos are good. I mean, they're spicy, they have that sticky richness which drips everywhere and you just can't forget, but you have to be cautious in eating one of them, because if you just go ahead and bit it and it's not the time already it will burn your tongue and nearly choke you, until it disintegrate your heart in little cheddar-cheesy bits, and all you can do will be drinking a lot of sugary coffee and ask yourself how eating a damn burrito could go so wrong.- He gradually rose his voice along with his words, stabbing his poor lunch more and more viciously. When he finished he was panting, eyes bulging and blazing like blue supernovas. Someone was so going to be shot.

-What?!- he barked in the shocked silence. -I don't like burritos. I despise them.-

He got up, storming out down the corridor. Someone up there let out a shaken squeak, after a crush of falling papers and a loud roar. -I hate burritos!-

Juliet sighed, sinking in her chair. -Okay, no burritos for this week.- she whispered.

When Shawn entered the buzzing rush of the station, he instantly knew three things:

one, someone still had to fix the water loss in the main bathroom;

two, the Head Detective was in a terror-spreading frenzy; that, or every single cop had just seen a Bigfoot;

three, judging by Juliet's pace, he was in big trouble.

-Uh, Juliet seems wrathful.- Gus observed, sucking the last drops of milkshake from the straw. -What did you do, Shawn?-

His friend shot him a glare. -Why should automatically be my fault?- he protested -and don't make up words. "Wrathful", seriously?-

Before Gus could do more than open his mouth, their beautiful detective friend stopped before them, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

-Hi, Jules- the fake psychic greeted -I should wear sunglasses, you're dazzling today.-

-What did you do?- she growled, anything but sunny.

-Ehy, what's that, the "Pick on Shawn" Day?- he tilted his head, annoyed. -Do what to whom, first? Context, please.-

-To your boyfriend- she hissed -You know, tall, a passion for horses and cupcakes, the one who wears a gun all the time.-

-Cupcakes?- Gus's eyebrows shot upward.

Shawn plunged his hands in the pockets, sighing. He had the uncomfortable feeling he felt when leaving Santa Barbara: the sensation that everything was coming down on him, that he can't just jumping and waltzing around without touching the others, without hurting them. But no, this time it wasn't his fault. He never said he would do anything; he said he would try, not do it. He remembered the night before, the shouts, the silence, and those damn blue eyes that didn't hold back anything. It wasn't his fault. Period.

-Weeell, it's kinda possible I and Lassie-face had a little...disagreement, last night.-

Two no-nonsense glares fixed upon him.

Juliet suddenly nabbed them from the collar, dragging them both near the secretary counter. -What kind of disagreement?- She spat. -The "You burned the moka again" argument- Ehi, it has happened just once -or the tear-jerking argument?-.

-Ah, I don't have a so accurate case list, Jules- he replied, scratching nervously the back of his neck. -Seriously, it's not that bad: it's just us, I mean, we live bickering...-

-Shawn.-

He sighed again. He couldn't push back, and retreat didn't seem an option.

He just hoped in a clean death. -I may have said I don't want to live with him.-

Suddenly the precinct seemed very silent, even in the buzz of steps and phone rings. Gus was the first to react. -And you're still alive?-

Juliet shook her head, licking her lips; he didn't like that. He didn't like knowing that she can imagine way too well the way Lassie went rigid, withdrawing in his damn steel fortress and waiting for the next blow. His next blow.

Not. His. Fault.

-No, don't worry Gus, Carlton won't kill him. For this reason, at least.-

-I don't know how it works for you guys, but you say no because you're not enough...involved?- Gus was too wise to use the "L" word. -I thought it was a pretty serious thing.-

-Uh, not, it's not that. I think it's just me being me.- Shawn scratched his neck more viciously.

-You see, yesterday I went to him and Lassie set up a glory of dinner, even the pineapple pudding, and all was well; we were chatting and I was telling him how many burritos Gus gulped down at lunch, come on man, you should be proud, when he just said it.- He sighed, leaning his head on the Plexiglas wall. -And I...sort of freaked out. I laughed and laughed, he got angry, went all dramatic hero-style, and I said a lot of...well, a lot of things.-

Gus grimaced like he had just swallowed a lemon. -Things like what?-

-Like he's suffocating and petty, that he pretend to stick his stupid rules even in my life and that he's a pathetic control-freak wanting to see everyone settled down in a cottage with a dog and three dumb fat children.-

This time Gus was swallowing a pineapple with all the barbs. -Shawn, that was mean even for you.-

-Ehy, dude, you know that sometimes my mouth just goes on and on before I can understand it. It's like a curse.-

-Don't even try the Curse charade- Jules growled. Yes, his pretty, sweet, reasonable friend actually growled. She took a step forward, jabbing one finger in Shawn's chest.

-You realized what you did?- A shove. -Carlton exposed for you, he offered you something he didn't even think to have again; and you refused with no explanation, and hurt him deliberately.-Another blow, sending him two steps backward. -You messed with my partner.- One last shove. -And nobody. Messes. With my. Partner.- She managed not to rise her voice, but somehow the low-tune menace was even more creepy. Whoa, overprotective Jules vs. furious Henry, that'll be the millennium match.

-Ah, guys- Gus whispered. -We're starting to get a little too attention.-

The two cast a glance to the rest of the station. All the officers were trying to win a Nonchalance Competition, dividing cautious looks between them and the arch where the Head Detective had disappeared. That seemed to mollify Jules a little, or at least her finger stopped stabbing his chest; with a last glare she turned, storming out through the crowd of uniforms and voices.

Shawn cleared his throat, trying to swallow the sour lump somewhere in his pharynx. It probably was the chili dog at eight a. m. Yeah, definitively just the chili dog. -Whoa, dude, you truly saved my ass this time. I was fairly sure she would rip out my heart in a bloody pulp.-

Gus delivered him a shove, keeping walking next to him. -Don't think I approve, Shawn. Lassiter can be a border-line militarist, but what you did was rather insensitive.-

He stopped. -C'mon, Gus, that is not fair; a guy has the right to refuse a commitment, he can't accept to live with someone just not to disappoint him.-

Gus gave him his Older Brother glare. -Sure, but you refused for the wrong reason.-

Shawn rocked on his heels and suddenly felt annoyed, especially because the sour slump didn't want to get down. -Ah, don't be a matted Teddy Bear. It's us, we'll manage: we just work like this, and we enjoy it. -

-I'm not so sure, Shawn.-

A rush of shoes and whispered apologizes made them look up. Carlton Lassiter was standing next to his desk, some reports in his hands; with the pale face and the long lashes curving over stormy blue eyes, he resembled even more some exiled warrior prince.

The fake psychic smiled, feeling the gulp swelling and melting at the same time. Now Carlton would make a living hell for the next two-three days, he would leave a donut on his desk for a week, and before they knew it Lassie would be yelling at him and searching his hand under the desk.

Because after all, that was how it worked.

In that exact moment the precinct doors opened, and every pair of eyes glued to the entrance.

And a tingle run down Shawn's spine.

Something happened in the police station: a shiver, a submerged current of interest and curiosity spreading in waves of peeks and whisperings. Oh, it must be something gorgeous, like a gruesome cutted head or a guy in a panda costume.

He and Gus turned around.

Or maybe not.

Near the doors was a good-looking man walking along the desks. But "good-looking" was not the right word. Broad shoulders, shiny blond locks swirling around strong cheekbones, the pure-white shirt revealing a triangle of tanned skin; he had to be in his late thirties, but the subtle marks around his eyes just brought out their aquamarine green, matching the gray of his jacket. He advanced with fluid strokes, like some sort of powerful and golden feline. Shawn almost swore he was moving in slow motion.

-He's like a less hyperactive Bon Jovi.- he muttered.

-I don't know if feeling compelled or threatened in my masculinity.- Gus murmured back.

-Welcome to my world.-

The rest of the precinct seemed to share the feeling, judging by the female officers' hungry smirks and the male ones' defensive poses. Buzz was slowing his pace, probably catching a third grade burns from the steaming coffee in his hand; Jules wasn't losing a single movement; even the chief was spending a suspiciously long time in the break area.

But Shawn wasn't checking their reactions.

The Head Detective was staring at the new arrival with mesmerized astonishment; and nothing else. No hint of suspect, no evaluating gaze, not the start of paranoia that made him such a good cop; just amazement, plus something darker and softer he couldn't fully understand.

While Shawn began to frown Mistery Man waved at Lassie, casting him a thousand watts smile.

-Carlton- he called, voice smooth and rich like old wine.

Carlton?

-Adam- Lassie breathed.

The man in gray moved forward with an handful of long-legged steps, and then happened something that really supported the Alternative Universe hypothesis: he hugged Lassie. A real hug, arms wrapped around his figure and fingers clasping his back without any hesitation. And Lassiter didn't jerk back. He went stiffy, sure, but his hands slowly rose, easily finding their place on the man's shoulders.

By then everyone was shamelessly staring.

-It's so good to see you- Mystery Guy exclaimed. -When I found out that the tough Head Detective of Santa Barbara was you I couldn't stop grinning. Then again I always knew you would do what you said.- He squeezed Carlton's arm.

-Ah, I suppose so.- The soft thing in the cop's eyes grew wider. -What are you doing here?-.

-Whoa, Carlton, you're always so subtle.- He laughed, a fairly normal laugh, not too graceful and not too squeaking.

Shawn neared cautiously, hoping neither detectives would shoot him.

-Let me have a wild guess- he prompted in. -You're an ex-model fond of knitted coats for kittens and with a fetishism per mimes.-

Lassiter's stare dropped the temperature to an ice age level. -We don't need you, Spencer.- That word had implications Shawn was not eager to explore.

Mystery Guy arched an eyebrow, but he didn't lose a single detail.

-Uh, actually no, I'm not a rather freakish ex-model, sorry to disappoint you.- He looked at them all. -I'm Adam Browsby, Profiler for the LA Police.-

-And I called him here for the Poet's Case.- The terse voice and tickling of heels announced the chief. Vick eyed them, glimpsed the ice knives slashing among her detectives and took a strategic position out of the fire line. -Mr. Browsby, nice to meet you. We really appreciate you could come here with so little notice.-

Browsby smiled his blinding smile, shaking hands. -My pleasure, madam.-

-And I deem to understand that you and Detective Lassiter already knew each other.-

Lassie rose his face, smiling too. Not the twisted grin he used with suspects, neither the smug smirk of the agog moments, but the little, real smile that Shawn forced from him only with painful heart-talk. And sometimes cookies.

-Yes, that's right. Adam and I went to high school together and we were very good friends.- Was there an hesitation in Lassie's voice?

-As to say, he helped me with History and I helped him not to look like a vacuum salesman.-

Gus snorted, only to be elbowed by Jules.

-Well, I have to watch all your dumb football games.-

Adam talked as if he was not new to Lassie-bickering. -And I froze at every figure skating exhibition.-

Dead silence. Tu-dudu-duun.

-Ops- Adam whispered. -You didn't tell them. It's a pity, you were rea...-.

Lassie gave off a sound between a growl and a cough. -Err, shouldn't we make a brainstorming or something like that?-

Before anyone could comment he sprang forward toward the chief's office. -McNab, the report, now.-

Adam watched him, practically beaming.

Geez, do I ever watch Gus that way?

When the chief excused herself and went looking for Henry, Juliet stretched her hand, super blazing smile in place. -I'm Juliet O'Hara, Lassiter's partner.- She was using her sugary beach babe voice. -If there's something I can do for you, just ask.-

-I would like a bunny wearing tiny sunglasses.- Shawn offered. -And a parrot in tuxedo for my friend.-

Jules's eyes switched instantly to murderous. -I was not talking to you.-

Adam squirmed a little. -Ah, thank you, detective. It's a very considerate thought.-

Jules giggled, yeah, actually giggled, casting radiant glances over the shoulder as she walked after her colleagues.

Creepier and creepier.

Shawn neared the rather puzzled man. -Well, welcome to the cheery world of SBPD, open all day - but please don't feed the detectives: they bite.-

Adam turned slowly, one golden eyebrow elegantly arched. -I should suppose you're the Psychic Consultant of the Department? I've heard you're re very peculiar.-

-They never accused me of that- the younger man commented, giving him an handshake. -Shawn Spencer, psych detective, and this is my partner, Klaus Von Strudellein. He comes from Transylvania, just like Freud and Dracula.-

-Freud came from Vienna, Shawn.- Gus pointed out.

-Exactly, in Transylvania.-

-Ah...okay, sure- Adam nodded, shrugging and making even that look graceful. -It's a pleasure. I'll like to talk with you later, but shouldn't we go in now?-

Shawn let out a chuckle. -Ah, we usually don't "go in", big A. We rather...- Peek from the window, get caught and then grudgingly admitted.

Adam's lips quirked. -Let me guess, Carl calls you only if he really needs something and even then makes it look like it physically pains him.-

-If it's a good day.-

Browsby sneered, patting their shoulders. -Oh, you should have seen him at the music classes. Now come on, I'm sure you can sneak in after me.-

As he strode out, Gus blinked like a round-headed deer in the headlights. -He's nice. He's actually being nice with two idiots like us.-

-Rude, Gus, but you're right.- Shawn grinned. -I bet we'll have a very good time with him.-

He kept smiling, lazily checking through the shutters of the chief's office. Yeah, he knew he should think about how to make up with Lassie-face, and maybe get rid of the sour knot in his throat, but he also knew that for him it didn't work that way; he preferred throw everything and everyone in life rush, hold on them tightly and wait for them to find a new pattern. Not that it worked perfectly in the past, but hey, no plan is perfect. So he would just try to find out what fabulous shampoo their new playmate used, lead one of his own super-cool investigations and somehow end up laughing and running and screaming with his friends like nothing happened. And maybe in the process Browsby would also reveal other dirty secrets of Lassie's teenage years.

How could he ask for more?

Behind the glass windows he saw Adam whispering something to the Head Detective, Lassie leaning naturally on him.

Suddenly Shawn felt way less excited.