Summary: Inspired by a scene in Texasartchick's Stir Crazy. Dark fic. Evil!Lassie. Death fic. You have been warned. "Abandon hope all ye who enter here".
AN: Wow. Yeah, I've been wanting to read an Evil!Lassie or Evil!Shawn fic for a while, but I never thought I would be able to write one. This was completely inspired by one tiny scene in Texasartchick's Stir Crazy, where Shawn asks Lassie about his dad (towards the end of chapter three). Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go throw up now.
Psych: The Day the Music Dies
"You know, Spencer, I've had enough of you!" Lassie snarls, spinning around to look at me.
"Aw, come on, Lassie-face. You know you love me! Ack!" I choke as he slams me back into the wall, his forearm across my chest.
"Anger issues, anyone?" I cough out, still trying to inhale. Lassie really knocked the air out of me this time.
"You're done," he growls and I shudder just a little bit at the tone. He sounds more menacing than I would like.
"Done with what?" I squeak out as his arm shifts into my throat. I can't help it as my fingernails dig into the sleeve of his jacket, trying to relieve the pressure.
"Everything," he says darkly, and I can feel my eyes widen as he looks down at me, blue eyes like permafrost.
It's getting hard to breathe, my vision turning red along the edges.
"Lassie, you're hurting me," I grunt out through clenched teeth, his arm pressing against my jaw.
"I know," he says quietly and releases me, taking a step back.
I wobble on my feet, head swimming. Taking deep gulps of air, I lean over slightly, rubbing my neck.
I look around, noticing for the first time how isolated we are. Gus and Juliet are at the other location. The huge warehouse is completely empty of life.
I force a small grin and look up at him, wondering what I said differently this time.
"Well, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," I quip, forcing my tone to stay light despite the icy finger of dread that traced along my insides.
No reply. What is he thinking? His inscrutable expression seems ominous. I blink at how Gus-like my inner monologue is becoming.
When he moves I am surprised.
His fist impacts my temple with perfection in both force and angle, sending me spinning to the cold cement floor.
I cry out in pain and shock, a high-pitched scream that faintly shames me. But there is no time for shame as a size twelve narrow collides with my ribcage, cutting short my yelp of pain.
I crab-crawl backwards as he advances, whimpering with every movement.
"Lassie, what?" I ask, confused and hurt.
"You push and you push and you push, Spencer," he says, his voice quiet and controlled.
My fear rises with every deliberate word. I hit the wall and realize I have nowhere else to go. I use the wall to lever my body up, my arms rising protectively.
"J-Just stop, Lassie. I won't say anything," I promise, not sure if I'm lying or not.
"No, you won't," he says, a grin twisting his features to unrecognizability. He pulls out a knife and flicks it open, blade gleaming in the half-light.
I can feel myself start to hyperventilate. A stray thought that this might be some kind of sick prank crosses my mind but is immediately dismissed as a trickle of blood slides down the collar of my polo.
This isn't real. He's my friend. Sure, I tease him a lot and try to make him angry, but not like this. Never like this.
"Think about what you're doing!" I warn, my voice shaky.
"Oh, I have," he assures me, his lanky form looming over mine.
My mind has too many ideas and too few options.
I attack.
I hit the floor on my back, my head singing.
He's over me, holding me down as I struggle and buck.
"Please, please," I beg, my voice high and desperate and entirely out of my control.
He's smiling still, the knife no longer gleaming; now wet and red and dripping.
I whimper, arching under him as pain arcs through me.
"Do you know how long I've been picturing this?" he rasps, his pupils wide and dark.
"Please, I'm sorry! I'm sorry," I cry, tears and blood pooling beneath me.
He grins again and leans forward, his lips brushing my ear.
"Not as sorry as you're going to be," he whispers.
Pain. Pain. Pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain…
-000-
They can't hear me. I keep shouting at them, but they can't hear me.
They cling to each other, both crying over my mangled body. They don't understand how I can be gone, just like that. How someone could kill me. Torture me.
I scream as he comforts them, his bloodstained hands touching what I can't touch.
He looks up and I swear he can see me.
I scream and curse and rage, but all I hear is silence.
He smiles.