A/N: Written as part of a crack!crossover one-shot challenge between me and the inimitable Jeemers and Devryn (links in my bio).
EX PSYCHIC
Shawn Spencer strolled through the door of the 'Psych' office and stopped dead in his tracks.
At his desk sat a suave, boyish-looking man with rolled-up sleeves and a decidedly preppy sweater vest.
Before Shawn could spit out an appropriately smart-ass witticism, he heard something that made his blood run cold.
A laugh.
Gus's laugh.
The man at Shawn's desk leaned back in Shawn's cushy swivel chair with a wide grin on his face, obviously pleased with the effect he had produced.
"That's it!" Shawn shouted, slamming his morning coffee down on the desk and sloshing scalding liquid onto his hand and desk calendar. "What is going on here?"
Gus and the unknown usurper turned and stared up at him with innocent eyes.
"You needn't take out your recent argument with your father on us," the man said.
Shawn's jaw dropped. "Do I know you?"
"Charles Xavier," said Charles Xavier, sticking out his hand.
Shawn stared at it as though it were diseased.
Xavier glanced hesitantly at Gus. "This is how one greets another in America, is it not?"
"Yes, it is," Gus assured him, glaring at Shawn. "Shawn is just being a jerk."
"A jerk? Me?" Shawn spluttered, rubbing his burnt hand. "Gus, don't be a—"
"Miniature smore with stale graham crackers and an undersized marshmallow," Xavier interrupted. "Er…is that some sort of code?"
Shawn stared at him in disbelief. Xavier simply smiled sweetly.
Gus stood up, walked across the room to Shawn, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Shawn, isn't it obvious? Charles is a real mind-reader. He's not a fraud like you. He also possesses a strong work ethic and moral scruples. And, on top of that, he doesn't make offensive comments about my fashion sense. Face it, Shawn. You've been replaced."
Shawn couldn't believe what he was hearing. He looked at Xavier, hoping that if he stared at him long enough the imposter would disappear like a burst bubble.
No such luck.
"Get your things, Shawn," Gus said loftily, folding his arms across his chest. "Only real psychics work here."
"But—"
"NOW."
"Can't I at least have the pineapple?"
"You don't deserve it."
Gus showed no sign of backing down. Shawn felt sick.
Then his alarm clock rang.
"Wow," he said to himself as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes. "I need to cut back on the X-Men comics."
