A/N: I would like it to be known in advance that I did not edit or rewrite this in any way (except for the first paragraph, the first time I wrote it was rubbish), because, like I said, this is a test run. You are about to read a 98% authentic first draft. Proceed at your own risk! XD

The last wisps of a strange, twisted dream fled behind the cobwebs of Lassiter's brain as he cracked open his eyes, immediately groaning as he realized his jaw was so much more sore than it was yesterday. He blinked his eyes several times to clear his head, then rolled over so he was facing the nightstand and pulled his clock off the table, squinting at the light.

6:07 A.M.

"Too early," someone moaned. "Why am I even awake?"

Lassiter froze. He knew that voice. Whipping his gun off the nightstand, he turned over in the bed ready to shoot whoever was in the room with him.

But he was alone.

"Stop stop stop! I didn't tell you to do that!" The voice came again. "Where did that gun even come from? Hang on . . . this isn't even my house!"

Finally, the voice clicked in his exhausted mind and Lassiter sat up, his face red.

"Spencer! What the - Where - How-" he sputtered.

"Lassie? Are you here too?"

"What do you mean, "are you here too'? I live here!" Lassiter roared. "What are you doing in my house?"

"Lassie, this is your house? I thought it seemed a little familiar . . . Where are you? I can hear you, but I can't see you . . ."

"I was sleeping! On the bed!" Lassiter yelled. There was a moment of silence, then Shawn laughed nervously.

"No no no, I'm on the bed."

"I think I can tell where my own body is, Spencer! Now where are you really hiding? You better get your butt out of my house within the next ten seconds or so help me when I find you I WILL shoot you on the charge of tresspass-"

"Lassie, stand up."

Taken by surprise by the suddenly serious tone Spencer had adopted, Lassiter forgot about being angry - or, at the very least, he forgot about his burning desire to kill Spencer. "Why?" he growled.

"Just do it. Please."

"This better not be some trick-" he started as he stood up, but was interrupted by Shawn screaming.

"Spencer, what the heck is wrong with you? Could you stop screaming bloody murder for five seconds?!"

"I can see that! I'm doing that!"

"WHAT are you talking about?" Lassiter yelled.

"When you stood I could see it, like it was me, like I was the one standing! Like . . . Like I'm in your head!"

Lasstier froze. "Spencer, this is not funny. I'm psychically and mentally exhausted and this was NOT a good time to play a practical joke, so whatever you're trying to do, STOP-"

"I'm not kidding, Lassie!"

"What did you do, hide a radio in my room?" As the thought occurred to him, Lassiter started going around the room, slamming drawers open and tearing things apart like a hungry raccoon in a trash can. "SPENCER! Where is it!"

"I swear this isn't a joke! I didn't put a radio anywhere! Go outside, go anywhere, you'll see!"

"As a matter of fact, I think I will!" Lassiter snapped. Still clutching his pistol, Lassiter slammed the door behind him and marched outside, the sudden wave of heat seeping through his shirt. Spencer still hadn't stopped talking - "This is like Freaky Friday gone seriously wrong - speaking of which, did you happen to eat any fortune cookies lately, Lassie? Or maybe just read a fortune? Or feel an earthquake that seemed to affect only you? Answering any one of those would be fine. I'm pretty sure that I didn't, so it's gotta be you-" - and Lassiter jogged all the way around his house, his pace picked up when he realized that Spencer was indeed telling the truth - there wasn't a radio.

Lassiter burst into his kitchen, his throat tight with anger and slight panic, making him short of breath. "Spencer, will you please SHUT UP!" he yelled, his face filled with a deep crimson. Shawn finally stopped talking.

Panting and leaning against the counter, Lassiter buried his face in his hands, taking a deep, shaky breath. There was complete and utter silence for a few moments - just pure, golden silence. Lassiter peeked out between his fingers for a second, beginning to think that maybe this was just a dream, or he'd imagined the whole thing . . .

"Can I talk now, Lassie?" Shawn's voice whispered, unaware that those five little words had just destroyed the slight glimmer of hope Lassiter had felt. Growling, he swept his finger through his hair and tugged, hard.

"I must be dreaming," he muttered. "Having a nightmare. Or maybe I've just lost my mind."

"You haven't lost your mind, Lassie! You just have another consciousness in your body, that's all."

"It. Can't. Be. Real!" Lassiter shouted. "Things like this don't happen! I'll just go back to bed." Started to feel a little calmer now that he had something of an idea, he nodded to himself. "Yeah, and I'll wake up again and everything will be back to normal."

Shawn snorted. "Seriously, have you seen any movies ever? That NEVER works! I still say we should go find an old Chinese lady and ask her what your fortune said, if you really can't remember-"

"For the last time, I didn't have a fortune cookie!"

"Well, do you have any other ideas?"

"I'm still not convinced I haven't just lost my mind," Lassiter snapped. "Or maybe I died, and this is my Hell." Lassiter paused as a look of horror crossed over his face. "Oh God, that's it, isn't it? I'm dead and I'm going to be tortured for all eternity by Spencer. What did I do to deserve this? Was it what happened with the puppy? Because I swear I didn't mean to hurt it-"

"Look, Lassie, I can prove it's really me," Shawn said. "If I was a figment of your imagination or something you made up in your mind, then I could only know what you know, right?"

"I guess that makes sense," Lassiter said, surprised by the actual logic behind Shawn's thinking.

"So if I tell you something you don't know and it turns out to be right, then it has to be the real me. Something really obscure, something you would NEVER guess, so we're positive."

"Okay, fine then. Shoot."

"Umm . . . When we were nine, Gus and I went for a walk in one of those butterfly gardens and he got swamped by butterflies and now he's terrified of them. We're not actually sure why the kept landing on him - we think it had something to do with the chocolate bar he was carrying at the time . . ."

Lassiter blinked. "Guster is scared of butterflies?"

"Yeah, call him a double-check if you want! I swear it's the truth!"

Figuring he had nothing to lose, Lassiter picked up his phone and went to dial Gus's number, pausing only when he realized he didn't know it. He could almost hear Shawn rolling his eyes when he rattled off the number for him, and Lassiter's face grew a deeper shade of red, snapping that of course he'd known the number. The phone barely rang once before Guster answered.

"Hello, you've reached Burton Guster, how can I help you?"

"Guster, it's Lassiter," he said quickly.

"Lassiter? Why are you calling me at 6:12 in the morning?"

"This might seem like an odd question, but . . ." Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Are you scared of butterflies?"

The quick gasp on the other end of the phone was all Lassiter needed to confirm Shawn's earlier remark.

"Shawn swore he wouldn't tell anyone! I am so going to kill him when he meets me later-" The line went dead and Lassiter pulled the phone away from his ear, huffing. Apparently the other man had forgotten they'd been talking in his betrayal.

"So?" Spencer's voice chirped. Lassiter sighed and rubbed his already aching temples.

"I'm not going to be able to sleep until we figure this out," he finally growled. "So this is what we're going to do - I'm going to ask you about the last thing you remember, then you are going to shut up, STAY QUIET, and we're going to go look for . . . to find out wherever you are. Got it?"

"That almost sounded threatening," Shawn's voice echoed. "You know you can't hurt me without hurting yourself, right? You literally can't do anything to stop me from talking-"

"I'll find a raccoon to cuddle with and wrap myself up in a blanket of tassels."

Shawn instantly shut up, and Lassiter grinned like a wolf that just made it's first kill.

"That's better," he said. "Now, what's the last thing you r-"

It was at that particular moment that his cell phone chose to start having a seizure. Lassiter grabbed the trembling object in his hand and let his eyes briefly flick over the caller ID before answering it with an abrupt, "Lassiter."

"Carlton? It's Juliet. Listen, I need you to come down to the station right now."

Lassiter frowned. "Is eve-" He didn't get a chance to finished his question before the line went dead. Growling, Lassiter turned off the phone with a sharp glare. "What is it with people hanging up on me today?"

"What, I thought that was normal for you."

"Shut it, Spencer," Lassiter warned as he strolled over to his dresser. He pulled open the drawers and selected an clean pair of pants. He tossed them lightly onto his bed and started to undo his buttons.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Fear crept into Shawn's voice.

"I'm getting dressed, idiot."

"Oh, no. Nuh-uh. This is so not happening, not while I'm here-"

"Well, then just don't look!" Lassiter snapped.

"Dude, I'm in your head! I see what you see! I CAN'T not look!"

"Listen, Spencer! I'm not comfortable with this either, alright? But what do you want me to do, never change clothes again?"

Shawn grumbled, then said, "We could at least delay it-"

"Just. Shut. Up."

Silence lay thick in Lassiter's mind. Then:

"You know, if you worked out a bit more you wouldn't be so-"

"I said SHUT UP!" Lassiter roared, his face burning.

This was going to take some getting used to.

There was SO much more I wanted to put in this first chapter, but I needed to break it off somewhere. So all the rest of that fun stuff is going to have to be moved to chapter 2. :( Anyway, I really wanna hear what you guys say, and unlike Shawn, I can't even pretend to be psychic, so please please tell me what you're thinking! Thank you! :D