Disclaimer: I don't own Psych. If I did, Shawn would get whumped every episode. :)

A/N: I'm sorry for the rather lengthy wait, guys. I've got just a little over a month before I graduate college, and I've got so much work to do, it's not even funny. I'm having to write whenever and wherever I have the chance, which is why I wrote this around midnight on my iPod touch, which, in turn, is why if you find any spelling/grammar errors, please don't judge too harshly. It's a little screen, and it was late, and spell check hates me. But I DID go over it on Word, so hopefully I caught everything. ;) Anyway, I'm super-excited about this story. I hope you enjoy. Please review! :)

The Hunter, the Psychic, and the Bathrobe

Chapter One: Gymnastics Never Killed Anyone (But a Serial Killer Did)

Shawn Spencer was having a dream that was eerily similar to James and the Giant Peach where he was James, Gus was the giant caterpillar, and Lassie, for some reason, was that weird spider lady. The best part? They were flying over Santa Barbara in an enormous pineapple, and were just about to drop a giant balloon filled with strawberry preserves on to Shawn's dad's house when a phone rang somewhere in the distance. Shawn tried to ignore it, and focused on dropping the strawberry balloon in the exact spot at the perfect time in order to ensure maximum splash effect, when the phone started ringing again.

Shawn tried to stay asleep, in his wonderful dream, but his body was waking up. With a grumble, Shawn cracked his eyes open to find that he had been sleeping in his surprisingly comfortable chair behind his desk at the Psych office (he'd stayed late to wrap up a few loose ends on small case last night, and must have fallen asleep), there were the remnants of a drained pineapple-strawberry smoothie on the desk next to his computer, and the TV was on in the background. He vaguely remembered that ABC Family had been showing James and the Giant Peach last night, and that, along with his fruity smoothie, explained the dream. He still wasn't sure why Lassie had been a lady, and quite frankly, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but it wasn't the first time he'd dreamed about Lassiter cross-dressing.* The cordless phone, which was actually charged today, was ringing insistently from its place on the shelf across the room.

The phone stopped ringing for a second, and Shawn briefly entertained the idea of going back to sleep since his wristwatch and newly purchased kitty-cat wall clock (it meowed every hour and its tail moved back and forth with every tick of the clock; Shawn had bought it for the dual purposes that it was incredibly cute and it creeped Gus out) said that it was just 6:32 in the morning. Not five seconds had passed before the phone started ringing anew, and Shawn realized that whoever was on the other line must be pretty desperate to talk, so he forced himself out of his chair and on to his feet, cracking his back and yawning as he did so. He was a little more awake by the time he answered the phone on the sixth ring.

He was going to answer with a snarky or clever (or perhaps snarky and clever) alias and quip, but he remembered at the last minute that this was the business phone and that it was supposedly bad for business and unprofessional if he answered the phone as Lenny from "Of Mice and Men," so he settled with a tired, "Psych."

"Spencer, why the hell haven't you been answering your phone? I've been calling all morning." Shawn blinked, wondering if he had heard the voice that sounded strangely like Lassie but much more concerned (and irritated, if that was possible for the head detective) correctly.

"Whoa, Lassie? I know I haven't called in the last few hours, Buddy, but I need some me time. You're starting to sound like a clingy wannabe girlfriend, and I honestly don't need another Gina Raypeck in my life." He paused for a split second, long enough to take a breath but too short for Lassie to get so much as a syllable in, though to be fair, the testy detective did try his best. "I could use another Gus, though," Shawn decided. "Mine keeps yelling at me about paying bills, charging phones, selling his vintage Thundercats figurines on eBay, and all kinds of other silly stuff. You can be Gus 2.0 if you want, and you can come around when the Grumpy Gus is hanging about. We'll have to do something about that pasty Irish skin-tone of yours, of course, but I have some bronzer that'll do wonders-"

"SPENCER!"

Detective Lassiter had been trying and failing to get a word in edgewise among the pseudo-psychic's endless chatter, but every time that he had raised his voice or tried to speak over him, Shawn would simply start talking louder and faster, until Lassiter finally snapped.

Shawn blinked, surprised at the detective's tone. While there was the customary exasperation, anger, and irritation (and unacknowledged admiration for his colleague's psychic prowess, Shawn believed), there was also something else: a strange, foreign element to the man's voice that suggested that maybe all was not right with the world.

Worry.

Shawn wisely shut up and waited for the irate detective on the other line to continue. There was a slight pause, and Lassiter ordered in a terse voice, "Get down to the station NOW - no stops along the way, no idiotic antics. Guster's already on his way. And where the heck is your cell, Spencer? We tried to call you on it five times and it went straight to your ridiculous voicemail."

"Um," said Shawn, who didn't need to be a psychic (or even an incredibly handsome fake one) to know that something big was going on. "It's dead."

Lassiter cursed. "For liberty's sake, Spencer, you really are an idiot. Look, come straight here like I said. No detours. And charge your phone! If you're not here in fifteen, I'm sending McNabb to find you, and I can assure you, if that happens, you are not gonna want to deal with me. Fifteen minutes."

Dial tone.

Shawn sat, a bit stunned at the strange but not uninteresting start to his morning, but quickly recovered and hastened to get ready. Curiosity was building up inside of him.

He hastened to get ready and was out the door in less than six minutes. He really hoped that the station had donuts this morning, because Lassiter hadn't given Shawn any time for breakfast.

He climbed on to his motorcycle and took off toward the police station.

Juliet was waiting for him outside of the station when he pulled into the parking lot nine minutes later. She looked beautiful today, as usual, with her blonde hair pulled back in a neat, tight ponytail at the base of her head. She was wearing a form-fitting pantsuit and the little silver earrings that Shawn had given her last week for a "just because" present. Shawn's heart gave a little leap when he saw her, and this time, it was not just from his feelings for her. She looked anxious, and the haunted look in her eyes was enough to convince Shawn that maybe he should be worried, too, about whatever was going on.

Juliet's eyes lit up considerably when Shawn took off his helmet and looked her way, but they didn't lose their haunted gleam.

"Jules!" Shawn called across the parking lot. He hurried to her side right as the Blueberry squealed into the lot and parked beside Shawn's Norton. Gus leaped out and ran to catch up with his best friend, who was just a few yards away from Juliet now.

"Dude, what's going on?" Gus asked anxiously as he matched strides with Shawn. Juliet called me at 6:30 telling me to come straight here. We get a new case?"

Shawn narrowed his eyes. "Maybe. But something isn't right here, Buddy."

He said the last words as he reaches Juliet and pulled her in to his arms. His girlfriend stiffened at his words but the allowed herself to melt briefly in his arms. Gus graciously pretended to be fascinated with an oil stain on the asphalt during the couple's brief but intimate moment. Less than thirty seconds later, Juliet was all business again as she pulled away from Shawn, looked him straight in the eye, and affirmed in a grave voice, "You're absolutely right, Shawn. We've got a big, big problem, and YOU are at the heart of it."

Shawn and Gus exchanged nervous glances. "What are you talking about, Jules?" Shawn asked, eyes wide. "I can say with relative certainty that I have not done anything that could be deemed unlawful in the past... twenty-two hours?" He grinned his customary, charming, and disarming smile, but his jest didn't make so much as a dent in Juliet's worried countenance.

"Come on inside, guys. We'll explain everything."

Gus voiced Shawn's next question before Shawn had a chance to open his mouth. "And will there be food?"

Juliet smiled slightly, and Shawn tried his best not to be bothered that his best friend had made Juliet smile when Shawn hadn't been able to.

He forgot his somewhat selfish musings at his girlfriend's next words, however: "We knew we'd have to deal with the two of you on empty stomachs, and I think we all know from experience how unpleasant that can be. So yeah, we've got donuts and breakfast burritos waiting in the conference room."

Gus moved so quickly that Shawn would later swear that all he saw of the man was a chocolaty blur of primal hunger. Juliet would later attest that Shawn followed so quickly on Gus's heels that the two of them almost killed themselves trying to be the first in the conference room to get the best pick of the food.

Juliet followed at a much slower pace, not at all eager to enter the conference room, because she knew just what it was that she would have to face again in there, and all she really wanted to do wad pretend that none of this was happening.

Fifteen minutes later, Shawn's three powdered donuts and two loaded breakfast burritos sat like lead in his queasy stomach as he stated at the brutalized image displayed on the screen in front of him.

The conference room was occupied by only a few. Shawn sat between his uncharacteristically quiet father and Gus, and across from Juliet, who in turn was beside Lassiter. Instead of sitting, however, the head detective stood behind his chair, leaning heavily on the back of it. His knuckles were clenched so tightly that they were white. If something was rattling the great, unflappable Carlton Lassiter, them Shawn figured it must be pretty bad. Judging by the picture on the screen, the situation was more than just pretty bad. Beside him, Gus emitted a pitiful squeak, not unlike the sound of a newborn kitten, and his face distorted painfully as he tried to keep his four burritos and three donuts in place.

"What the hell is this, Karen?" Ah, there was the not-so-good old voice of Henry Spencer, whom Shawn had known wouldn't stay silent for long.

The chief's face was dark and brooding as she stood in front of the screen and faced her small, serious, disturbed audience. "This," she said in a slow, deadly calm voice, "is Patrick Reese. Forty-seven years old. Renowned private investigator, marksman, outdoorsman, and gymnast from Laketown, Maine."

Despite the seriousness of the moment, Shawn's mouth seemed to have a mind of its own, and the psychic detective blurted incredulously, "Seriously? A fifty-year-old gymnast? With a leotard?"

Gus snapped out of his disgusted stupor long enough to offer a rebuttal. "He was forty-seven, Shawn. It's called a unitard on men. And what's wrong with an older gentleman doing gymnastics? It's a great way to keep the body strong and limber-"

"Good lord, Gus, stop saying words. I really don't have any desire to hear more about the man's limberness."

"I didn't mean it like that, Shawn, and you know it," Gus snapped, even as the others in the room watched with a mixture of irritation and amusement. No one tried to steer the topic back to the matter at hand quite yet, for although it was pressing and serious, the best friends' banter, while usually exasperating, was a welcome relief, for a brief time at least.

"Gus, don't be Parker Stevenson's man-perm. First of all, you didn't clarify, so how on earth was I supposed to know in what context you were talking about this man's remarkable limberness, and second of all, isn't gymnastics dangerous for people of his tender age? He'd break a hip or something that people of his age have a bad habit of doing."

Lassiter's face colored slightly due to Shawn's insinuation about people around Patrick Reese's - and, consequently, Carlton's - age being old and feeble.

"I never said he was remarkable, Shawn," Gus pointed out. "And he was just about fifteen years older than us."

"Yes, but our child-like hearts are going to keep is vibrant and young for years to come, unlike Lassie here, who is slowly withering away due to his grumpy Grinch determination to not believe in friendship and magic and love and all the wonderful things that make the world go round."

"Gravity makes the world go round," Lassiter ground out between gritted teeth.

"You're right," Gus decided, moving in to fist bump his friend. "That's sad."

"He needs to be hugged more often. Or at least once in his life. Go on, Gus, give Lassie-bear a great big cuddle-hug."

At the same time, Lassiter and Gus looked at Shawn and said, "You must be out of your damn mind!" Shawn threw his hands up in false surrender.

"Great harmony, guys. Let's try it again, but this time, Lassie, why don't you go high and Gus, you go low?"

"Spencer, I –"

"Okay, we've proven once again that my son is a complete idiot," Henry interrupted before Lassiter could finish whatever threat he was about to send Shawn's way. "Can we get back to the matter at hand?"

Karen nodded sternly, although the atmosphere in the room was slightly less tense than before, other than Lassiter, who looked like he was about to burst a vein in his forehead. "We've wasted enough time." Everyone reluctantly turned their attention back to the grizzly image on the screen.

Shawn spoke again, but this time his voice was subdued, sad, and maybe even a little apologetic. "How did he die?"

Karen met his eyes. "He was the first victim of a serial killer who calls him - or her - self The Hunter. There have been nine victims since, and it seems like he or she has been working their way across the country."

"And now they've made it to Santa Barbara," Shawn guessed, not even bothering to put his hand to his head, because the direction that the conversation was going was so obvious.

"So it would seem," the chief agreed, her eyes troubled.

"So that's why you've got l the secrecy right now," Henry realized.

"If word got out that The Hunter's in the area, there would be panic," Juliet affirmed.

"But you have to warn the people!" Gus protested. "They need to protect themselves!"

"No need, at the present, Guster," Lassiter said. "The killer has already chosen his or her victim, and they never go after anyone other than their chosen target, though they'd have no problem killing anyone who gets in their way."

"So you know who they're after?" Henry asked, his tone indicating that he had a bad feeling about what was coming next.

Juliet, Lassiter, and Chief Vick exchanged a round of nervous looks. "Yes. We showed you this image not to frighten any of you-"

"Uh huh," Gus muttered indignantly, but he was steadfastly ignored by everyone in the room, even Shawn. The latter was listening and watching intently with his super serious Shawn face in full commission.

"-but rather to give you an idea of just what it is we're up against and to show you how serious this is. This killer is too good at what he or she does. Ten victims, across the country, never been caught. No one even knows what happens to the victims while they are captives, only what the end result is. We are dealing with a very dangerous person, and we have to do everything and anything to not only catch this guy, but keep the target safe."

Shawn grinned, putting a hand to his head. "And you need my incredible psychic powers to protect this person. You got it, Chief."

"Not exactly, Mr. Spencer," said the chief, and Shawn's face fell slightly at the dismissal. Vick's voice was subdued, her face tight as she looked from Shawn to Henry, and then back to Shawn again. Henry narrowed his eyes. Gus looked nervously around the room. Lassiter glared at the table top in front of him like it was a hardened criminal or a pesky squirrel. Juliet bit her lip. Shawn didn't take his eyes off the chief as he waited for an explanation.

"I don't know how to tell you this, Shawn," the chief said, and the use of his first name made the knot in Shawn's stomach grow as he tried to pretend that he had no idea what she was about to say, although he'd figured it out almost as soon as she'd mentioned the target. "And I'm sorry. But the target is-"

"-me," Shawn finished, his throat dry. "He's after me."

*This is referring to the second Yin/Yang episode, when Shawn dreams that Lassie is the mother from Psycho… It's disturbing, but pretty funny at the same time.

A/N: Obviously, you knew it was coming, but I'm hoping it was dramatic anyway, lol! :) Funny thing is, I don't even like James and the Giant Peach, but I had this crazy vision of Shawn, Gus, and Lassie flying around in a giant pineapple, and, well… it was beautiful. :) Here's hoping I'm in character and have a good balance of seriousness and humor… and here's hoping that you're enjoying. :) I won't promise anything about when the next update will be, but hopefully it'll be within the next few weeks. Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll update as soon as I can! XD

~Emachinescat ^..^