A/N: This started out as a song fic to the song "I know, You Know" by The Friendly Indians (aka the Psych theme song), but it turned into this. I know, the ending is a bit rushed (I'm bad with that), but there may be a sequel to explain Shawn's actions.

Disclaimer: Psych and its characters aren't mine.

Found Out

"Wait," Shawn called out. Juliet stood still, eyes wide with anticipation, the (interim) chief sighed and leaned back in her chair, and Gus discreetly rolled his eyes as Shawn began to flail around because of a 'psychic vision.'

.-.-.-.-.-.

"I hate watching him," Carlton Lassiter growled to himself as he watched Shawn Spencer dance around the chief's office, his body flailing. Carlton had to fight back a small smile when he saw Shawn's hand collide with Detective O'Hara's. Lassiter squinted his eyes as the young man's finger's closed around the folder in her hands.

He was cheating.

This time, Lassiter let himself smile. He could see the headlines now, World's Best Detective Unmasks Fake Psychic. He grinned and sat down behind his desk. He propped a folder open in front of him, but kept his eyes on Spencer. He had to fight the smile back into submission when Shawn, Juliet, and Gus exited the chief's office and headed for his desk.

"Hey, Lassie-face," Shawn said, leaning against the detective's desk. "We have a case." Juliet tossed a file in front of Lassiter and he began to flip through it, as he had seen Shawn do only a few moments before.

"I'll meet you at the car," Lassiter said. Juliet nodded and she, Gus, and Shawn turned to leave, but Shawn stopped when he felt a hand wrap around his wrist. "Oh no, not you." Lassiter said. He pulled Shawn back to the desk and pushed the young man down into a chair.

"What's up, Lassie-face?" Shawn asked. Carlton suppressed a cringe at the nickname and began to flip through the folder again.

"You're not a psychic are you, Spencer?" Lassiter asked

"Oh, c'mon Lassie, stop projecting your disbelief," Shawn replied, but Lassiter saw a nervous glint pass through the young man's eyes.

"How do you do it?" Lassiter demanded. "How do you solve all of these cases? You're not a psychic, and you are most definitely not a cop, so what is it? Dumb luck?"

"My dad was a cop," Shawn responded, leaning towards Lassiter, an unfamiliar anger in his voice.

"So?" Lassiter prodded, knowing he was close to the truth. Shawn sighed and leaned back.

"He taught me how to notice things," he said. "Details most people miss. If I look around a room for two seconds and close my eyes I can tell you everything that's in it. I take what I see and I figure out what it means."

Lassiter stared, dumbfounded. This wasn't the response he had been hoping for. Trailing the police, listening in on a police scanner, anything like that he could have taken; but not Shawn actually having the ability to solve these crimes on his own.

"You could be a detective by now," was all Lassiter could think to say. The response earned him a glare from Shawn as the young man left the detective to puzzle over what he'd just found out.

.-.-.-.-.-.

The door opened after Lassiter's third knock. Henry Spencer looked at the oddly worried expression on the detective's face before stepping aside and letting him in. Henry offered Lassiter a seat, but the man shook his head and started pacing. Henry watched for awhile, but when it didn't seem like the detective was going to stop anytime soon he returned to his crossword puzzle.

"Why'd you do it?" Lassiter asked a few minutes later. Henry looked up, confused.

"Why'd I do what?" he asked as Lassiter finally sat down.

"Train him."

"Train who?"

"Shawn. Your son. Who else?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Because he could have been the best cop on the force!" Lassiter was pacing again. Henry sighed and set his crossword down. After allowing Lassiter a few passes back and forth, Henry began to get agitated.

"Will you sit down?!" Henry commanded. Lassiter promptly plopped down across from the former detective. "I trained him because I wanted him to be a cop, detective, but once a kid reaches a certain age he has to make his own decisions.

"Shawn decided not to pursue a career as a police officer," Henry leaned back as he spoke. "I was disappointed, to say the least, but there was nothing I could do. He made his decision, and I had to live with that."

"But now he's pretending to be a psychic," Lassiter stated, his voice cracking a little. "Why would he do that?"

"Maybe because you nincompoops wanted to arrest him because he called in tips while watching the news," Henry replied. His tone of voice told Lassiter that it was time to leave, and he gave a mumbled goodbye as he let himself out.

He didn't go home. He found himself driving around aimlessly, watching the traffic lights and the street lights blur as he sped down the relatively empty streets. After a few hours, he stopped to get his bearings and found that he was at Shawn's 'office'. The familiar motorcycle was parked out front, and Lassiter sighed. He knew he wouldn't let himself leave until he confronted the mock mystic.

"Gus, my friend, did you bring the cinnamon buns?" Shawn's overly dramatic voice floated from further inside the building as Lassiter stepped through the door. He walked slowly towards the back, where the voice was coming from, and found Shawn sitting with his back to the door playing some kind of video game.

"Don't be a pig, Gus, share the sweets!" Shawn said, just as his phone rang. He answered it on the second ring. "Gus? Wait, aren't you…?" Shawn turned around and his mouth fell open when he saw Carlton Lassiter framed in his doorway. He snapped his cell phone shut without saying anything else and he slowly stood up, letting his character in the video game get overwhelmed by villains.

"Spencer, listen," Lassiter started, but was cut off by the younger man pressing him against the door frame. Their bodies were touching and Lassiter shivered involuntarily as Shawn's hand lay flat against his chest.

"Get out," Shawn said and he pushed Lassiter in the direction of the door. Lassiter took two steps, and then turned to face Shawn again. "I said get out."

"Listen, Spencer, I get it," Lassiter said, stepping towards Shawn. "I get that you didn't want to get arrested, but you could have told us that-"

"I did," Shawn interrupted, almost yelling. "I did tell you, in my own roundabout way I told you! I give my explanations every time I call in a tip, but do you bother to listen to them? Apparently not! Now, get out!"

"No, Spencer, I'm not getting out," Lassiter pronounced calmly. "I'm not getting out until you listen to me. You could have said something while we were interviewing you, we would have had your dad confirm it, and you would have been free to go."

"You make it sound so simple, Lassiter," Shawn growled. Lassiter cringed at the glare the other man had adopted. "But, like I said, I did explain." Shawn sat back down and returned to his game. Lassiter sighed and wound his way around to stand in between Shawn and the screen.

"You have to tell the chief," Lassiter said. Shawn glared at him, tossing his controller aside. He kicked at Lassiter's legs and the detective fell back against the desk, Shawn pinning him down.

"You can't tell a soul, Lassie-face," Shawn whispered, his lips millimeters from Lassiter's. Lassiter swallowed, not sure whether Shawn was talking about his faking being a psychic or what he was doing now; and he didn't have time to puzzle it out. Shawn pressed his lips against Lassiter's in an almost violent kiss, and Lassiter found himself kissing back.

"Oh. My. God." The two men pulled apart as Gus's voice reached their ears. He was standing in the doorway, the box of cinnamon buns in a heap at his feet. Lassiter looked from Shawn, who was still pressed against him, to Gus's petrified form.