Author's Note: I'll admit it, I love Psych and I miss it terribly now that it ended. Psych and Supernatural are one of the few shows that I really think could pull off a crossover, though I know it will never happen in real life. So, this is my product of wishing for that crossover and my sadness over losing one of my favorite TV comedies. This is my first time writing for any of the characters from Psych. My apologies if they are out of character. Please enjoy! Set in later season 6 of Supernatural and before season 7 of Psych.
"Cover your eyes
So you don't know the secret
I've been trying to hide."
—Ellie Goulding, "Anything Could Happen"
"A what now?"
"A psychic detective."
Dean tilted his head to the side in confusion and put down his burger as his little brother came to sit down at the kitchen table across from him. Sam was doing pretty well considering he just had a seizure that scared the hell out of his older brother not even five days ago. All things considered, they were pretty damn lucky. Sure, there was the lingering fear of the wall possibly coming down but as long as he kept Sam safe and avoided anything that might trigger a hidden memory, then it would be fine.
If only Bobby would come around.
The gruff hunter had made himself scare ever since soulless Sam had vanished, but after Cas spilled the beans, Dean knew what a toll the knowledge of his soulless' self attack on Bobby was taking on the youngest Winchester. Just as much as his little brother could see the anger in their father figure's gaze, could see the way that the older hunter was doing everything in his power to stay out of Sam's space. The two of them were avoiding each other, which was fucking ridiculous if you asked Dean. They were family.
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
"A psychic detective?" The eldest Winchester echoed incredulously. "Seriously? They're all liars, Sam—"
"That's what I thought too," He conceded as he pushed his laptop across the way. Headlines for various newspapers were displayed on the screen. Shawn Spencer solves kidnapping. Shawn Spencer stops bank robbery. Shawn Spencer returns priceless jewels—the list went on and on. "The guy's cracked over 40 cases while working with Santa Barbra Police Department. That's not just good luck, you and I both know that."
"So, what?"
"So," Sam began, suppressing a sigh and Dean nearly beamed. This was his little brother, annoyed and all. This was the man who had saved the world, who would get himself nearly killed to save a stranger. This was his brother. "Maybe the guy can give us a lead on Eve or something."
"If this guy is such a big deal," Dean began, finishing up his burger. "Why haven't we heard about him?"
"Bobby was going to look into it," The youngest Winchester replied. "That's why he asked us, I guess. He wants us to make sure this," He glanced at the computer screen. "Shawn Spencer is actually psychic before he starts sending hunters to him. Besides, this guy might not know anything about the supernatural—"
"In a big city like Santa Barbra?" The eldest Winchester protested, shaking his head. "I doubt it."
"Regardless," Sam ignored him. "You want to go?"
"You know where to find him?" Sam nodded vigorously.
"He owns a psychic detective agency. I figured we could start there." Rising from the table, Dean picked up his plate and sighed softly. Santa Barbra . . . that didn't sound like a bad idea. It would give Bobby some space and time to come around and the new location might help both Winchesters relax after all this craziness that had ensued so recently.
"All right. I'll get the keys."
Sam just smiled.
Santa Barbra was different from most cities.
For one thing, people were so happy here. They walked on the streets with smiles on their faces, waving to the two brothers as they got out of the Impala. The sky was bright blue; the sound of the sea echoed in the wind, a hint of salt on the air. Sam smirked at his older brother's disgusted expression. Dean had never bought the whole happy, welcoming townsfolk thing. While they had their reasons to be suspicious, Sam still liked to believe that there was some good left in the world. With the wall still up in his head and the hazy memories of what he did as his soulless self still floating around, he needed places and people like this to keep him grounded.
There was evil in the world, but there was also good. He and his brother fought to protect people like this—people who would never know about them or the sacrifices they've made for them. And sure, sometimes he was bitter—who wouldn't be after everything they had been through—but in the end, Sam knew it had to be like this. If people knew the truth, the whole world would go to pieces.
"FBI?" Dean questioned softly and the youngest Winchester nodded his head while reaching in for his badge. The office was easy to find, easily visible from the pier. Bright green letters advertised it and within minutes, the two brothers found themselves in front of the door. They knocked and waited, both wondering what Shawn Spencer would be like. Both had dealt with psychics before, but never a detective with ties to a local police department.
No one came to the door; they knocked harder.
"FBI!" Sam called out, but there were no sounds of movement on the other side of the door. Turning to his brother, Sam shrugged. "Maybe they are out at the SBPD?"
"Worth a try—"
"Gus, dude, you're wrong! Pineapple is the only fruit you ever need!" Instantly, Sam's hand shot out, pulling his brother back. Glancing down the pier, the youngest Winchester could make out Shawn Spencer walking alongside his business partner whose name he couldn't quite remember right now.
"That him?" Dean quietly inquired and Sam nodded. "Let's introduce ourselves." They headed out onto the pier as Gus shook his head.
"Shawn, pineapple does not have nearly all the necessary nutrients that everyone needs!" Gus shouted, exasperated. "For the last time, pineapple should be eaten in moderation—"
"Oh, c'mon!" Shawn protested. "Pineapple is—"
"Shawn Spencer?" The duo stopped suddenly and turned around to face the Winchester brothers. "I'm Agent Wesson and this is Agent Hagar. Could we talk to you for a minute?"
"Wesson and Hagar?" The psychic muttered, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Like the gun and the guitarist? Are those fake names or did your families have some pretty crazy memories of the 80's?"
"Shawn!" Gus elbowed him in the ribs and the other man winced. "Forgive him. I'm—"
"He's Big-head Burton." The psychic recovered quickly.
"Shawn!" Gus exclaimed, slightly mortified. Then, facing the two agents, he tried to salvage the conversation. "I'm Gus, Shawn's associate."
"Assistant." The psychic interjected.
"Partner!" Gus retorted.
"Look," Sam interrupted, trying to gain control of the conversation before things spiraled out of control. "We wanted to ask you a few questions about your abilities."
"Okay," Shawn tucked his hands into his pockets, seemingly at ease. "I'll trade you a question for a question."
"Shawn—" Gus cautioned but his friend ignored him.
"Fine." Dean gritted.
"Me first," Shawn flashed them an easy going smile. "Are you two really FBI agents?"
"Of course," Sam lied smoothly, though he shot a confused glance to his brother. Was this psychic onto them? "Why else would we be here?"
"Not sure," Shawn replied breezily. "But I have met a few FBI agents and let me tell you, they don't drive cars like your Impala over there." He jerked a finger to where the car was parked and Sam's eyes widened ever so slightly. Maybe he had seen them get out of the car? There was no reason to believe in his powers yet.
"How long have you had your powers?" Dean growled through clenched teeth, obviously not enjoying being questioned about his status of being an agent.
"Pass."
"Pass?" The brothers practically gawked. Even Gus appeared taken aback by his friend's nonchalant answer.
"You do know that we can haul your ass to jail right?" The eldest Winchester challenged, though Shawn seemed totally at ease. He grinned and chuckled dryly while Gus grew increasingly more concerned with every second that passed.
"Get a warrant first gentlemen," The younger man replied calmly. Then, with a cheeky grin, he added, "Unless of course you've already figured out that your cover is blown." He smirked, leaving the two brothers speechless. "C'mon, Gus." Gus, as shocked as the Winchesters, followed his friend. They vanished around the corner. Sam recovered first, running a hand through his hair.
"Dude." He mumbled.
"You don't think he actually could be a psychic detective?" Dean's voice held a hint of skepticism, but not nearly as much as he had before. "I mean, the psychics we've met have never been that accurate before—"
"I don't know." Sam shook his head. "But, we can't go back to Bobby without an answer for sure."
"You want to talk to his boss, Chief Vick?" Sam nodded. "Okay, let's get going then."
The way the light glinted off the gun as he pointed it at someone. He had felt no remorse when his finger tensed on the trigger—
"Sam?" Dean waved a hand in front of his face and the youngest Winchester snapped out of it. "You okay?"
"Y-yeah." He stammered, pushing the resurfaced memory back into the darkness. The last thing he needed was to go all Hell-seizure on Dean. His older brother wouldn't let him go out on another case for at least a month if he had another seizure, something they couldn't afford to do, not with Eve out there.
"You sure?"
"Yeah," He shot his brother a grin. "Let's go."
He could keep this under control.
"And you two are—?"
"FBI." Dean interjected with a charming smile. Chief Vick did not seem to buy it and grimaced. "We, uh, are just inquiring into whether Shawn Spencer's abilities might be of some use to us."
"The FBI needs a psychic detective?" She scoffed. What was with these people? Normally, their FBI routine went off without a hitch.
"We're just looking into things." Sam informed her, though the chief did not seem to really accept that either. "Anything you could tell us—"
"Shawn Spencer is not a psychic." A man spoke up suddenly. His eyes burned bright with some sort of hidden fury and as he rose from his desk, the two brothers noticed the way he moved towards them with a purpose. "He's a fake."
"This is Carlton Lassiter, my head detective," Sam and Dean shook his hand. "Detective Lassiter, Agents Wesson and Hagar from the FBI."
"So, you think Shawn Spencer isn't a psychic?" Dean questioned and Lassiter quickly grabbed a case file from Chief Vick's desk. She shot him a glare but the Head Detective didn't seem to notice and opened it, eyes scanning the pages.
"I haven't been able to get any proof," He muttered with disdain. "But there's no way he could've figured out all these murder cases." He snapped the folder shut. "He had to be in on it."
"He's not in on it." Chief Vick sighed, plopping into her chair. She must've had this conversation once too many times before.
"C'mon Chief!" Lassiter groaned. "Remember the stunt he pulled with the cat?" The Chief nodded her head.
"Cat?" Sam echoed.
"Mr. Spencer's methods are a bit . . ." She struggled for a suitable word. "Unconventional, to say the least."
"A cat's owner was killed." Lassiter began. "Spencer picks up the cats, gets a 'vision'," He used air quotes, eyes rolling. "And says the cat knows the murderer."
"He did solve the case." The weary Chief Vick pointed out.
"Chief, so could I! If I had just a bit more time—!" Lassiter whined and Sam suppressed a laugh. He had never seen a police station quite like this—so friendly and welcoming. Chief Vick, as put upon as she came across, accepted Lassiter's complaints with a mother's patience. Any other city and Sam was sure Lassiter would've been dismissed within seconds.
"Look, Agents," Vick began, getting control of the situation. "Whether Shawn Spencer is psychic or not, I can't tell you either way." She leaned back in her chair and shrugged. "What I can tell you," She smiled softly. "Is that he solves cases. If your FBI is looking for a break in something, he might be able to help you." Her gaze sharpened. "Though, I won't make it easy for you two. Shawn Spencer is an integral part of our operations."
"We understand." Sam told her quietly.
"Thank you for your help." Dean said as the duo began to make their way out of the police station. "So?"
"We're back at square one." Sam mumbled.
"I know." Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What are we supposed to tell Bobby? That there's a 50/50 chance of Shawn being a psychic? Those are crappy odds."
"We keep digging." The youngest Winchester remarked. "His dad lives in town, right? If Shawn was a psychic, I'm sure his powers developed early."
"Yours didn't." Dean pointed out.
"Yeah, well, mine were caused by demon blood." That whole incident still left a bad taste in his mouth. He didn't really like to think about the past like that even though he knew that his past is what helped defined today, as much as he wished it wasn't so.
"I've met you before." The woman, blonde, blue eyes wide in fright backed up and hit the alley wall. "You and your brother . . . you promised you wouldn't hurt me!" He pointed the gun loaded with silver bullets at her heart. "Please, don't do this!" He fired it.
He didn't even bother to clean the blood off of his shirt until the next morning.
"Sam?" Dean's hands gripped his shoulders, grounding him in the present. "Talk to me, what's wrong?" His head ached, but it wasn't seizure sized. He had to pull himself together. He could handle this easy case. He had to prove to Dean and to Bobby that he wasn't useless—that he could still research and hunt! "Sam!"
"It's okay." He tried to soothe his brother. The pain was already receding and he pushed back the memories into the dark recesses of his mind where they, hopefully, would not resurface again.
"No, you're not." Dean grimaced. "You're remembering—"
"Let's just finish this, okay?"
"Sam, I'm not just going to take the risk that you could—" He was playing the stubborn big brother card. The youngest Winchester knew there was only one thing left to do—he broke out the puppy dog eyes.
"Please, Dean." His older brother hesitated and Sam knew this was his chance. "Just this interview. If it turns out to be nothing, we'll go back to Bobby's."
"Just this one interview?"
"Just this one."
"And then we go back?"
"Yes, Dean."
"If you feel sick—"
"I'll tell you."
His brother sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Alright then," He muttered. "Let's do this."
Henry Spencer slammed the door in their faces.
Apparently, seeing through fake FBI agents was a skilled passed on from father to son. Sam wasn't sure what their next course of action would be. How could they head back to Bobby's with so little information? This was supposed to get him back into Bobby's good graces and now, it seemed like he would never get to the bottom of this matter. Bobby would never forgive him. Then again, why should he? What he had almost done while he was soulless . . . it was unforgivable. Sam should just get used to the way things were and count his blessings that Bobby hadn't completely cut him out of his life.
"So, that was a bust." He remarked as the two of them headed down the street and towards where the Impala sat.
"Do our FBI disguises suck that much?" Dean questioned. "I mean, that's twice in one day and Chief Vick sure as hell didn't want to believe us—"
"They're all cops though. Maybe we're just missing something that cops have—"
"We've fooled cops before." Dean pointed out.
"Yeah, but those cops didn't even really want to be there." He glanced at the sunset, at the people happily strolling around. Santa Barbra wasn't a normal city—people here were thrilled with life and cared for each other. The cops at the police station treated each other like family and family protected their own. Whether Shawn Spencer was a psychic or not was beside the point. They had defended him from what they considered "outsiders" and they had done a good job of it. "The cops here care."
"About the town—"
"Yeah, but about each other as well." Sam interjected. "They were protecting him."
"Well, as much as I'd like to admire them for it," He loosened his tie and shrugged out of his jacket. A warm breeze ruffled through their hair. "It sure makes our job harder."
"Agents?" The soft voice caught them off-guard and the two brothers turned around to see a young woman. She displayed a badge and Sam could make out the faint writing of Juliet O'Hara on it. Her blonde hair was pinned back in a ponytail though her looks were deceiving, she had the hard, powerful stance of a cop. "Detective Juliet O'Hara."
"Agents Wesson and Hagar." Sam introduced them, nudging Dean to put his jacket back on. "How can we help you, Detective O'Hara?"
"I've heard you've been checking in on whether Shawn is a psychic or not."
"That's true." Dean admitted. They all stood there for a few moments in awkward silence. Juliet seemed to be sizing them up, determining how much of threat they were. "Detective O'Hara—"
"Shawn and Gus have gone missing." Her voice cracked. "I need your help to find them."
"How do you know they are in trouble?" Sam shared a glance with his brother. "From what we've heard, it's not uncommon for the two of them to drop off the radar." She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a cellphone.
"And shouldn't you be asking Lassiter and Chief Vick for help?" Dean pointed out.
"Detective O'Hara," A mechanical voice stated as she played her voicemail. "I have Shawn Spencer and his partner. Should you want them returned to you alive and unharmed you will deliver Agents Hagar to me by midnight tonight at a location I will send you. Should you refuse or go to the police, I will kill them." There was a pause. "Oh, and Sam? Welcome back to town." The message ended and a chill ran through Sam's spine.
The pieces were starting to fall together.
Sam just wished they formed a different picture.
Author's Note: Part two will be uploaded soon. I hope you enjoyed it! If you have a moment, please review. Thanks!