God, it's like he's never even heard of a psychic before.

"Listen man, I've told you all that I can." The FBI agent had turned out to be a Mr. Sam Vanhorn. He was here on the case with his partner, Dean Underdunk.

Poor guy must've been beaten up a lot as a kid. Shawn could imagine seven insults right now for Underdunk alone.

"Yeah, but in the vision. Did you see anything strange? Like-"

"Of course I saw something strange! It was a vision, and part possession."

"But in the possession. Did you see what she saw? Like, the other murderer?"

Shawn sighed. "The eyes into another dimension aren't as clear as ours. The visions can be clear, but no. I didn't see the other murderer, since Zoe didn't see him. Or her."

"What about Drake?"

"What?" Crap.

"Well, you seemed to be possessed by Drake for a couple of seconds there."

Sam had him now. This guy was a total fraud. If he really had a vision, then Shawn would have seen the third murderer. Or, more accurately, Drake would've seen the witch. Hell, he wasn't a psychic in school, he wouldn't be now. And he didn't even remember the vampire.

Shawn paused, frowning. This guy was smart. "I was?"

Oh yeah. "Yeah. After you were "possessed," You went over to where Drake's body was, and said that there was another murderer."

"Oh." Shawn thought fast. "I'm sorry. But it's sort of like a dream. Sometimes I can remember, sometimes the spirits make me forget."

"Make you?"

"Yes. Sometimes, memories are so painful that the spirits refuse to share them."

Sam had to laugh at that one.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Listen. I know you're not a real psychic, K?"

"What? Oh. You're one of the nonbelievers."

"No, I believe. I believe in a lot of things, like the vampire we killed. Trust me. I'm a real psychic."

Shawn's mouth opened and closed. "Y-you! But-what the he-you. You!" He got up and began to shut the blinds, waving to Henry, standing with his arms crossed at the window. Shawn grinned, waved, and shut the blinds on him.

"I'm a psychic. I know what's real and what's not. You're not." Sam chuckled.

"Dude. How can you remember that? You were…what? Four? Five?"

"Six."

"Yeah. How can you remember that? And what're you doing back in Santa B? You know what, just explain everything while you're at it. I need info," He sat back down.

"Well, it was the first time anyone who wasn't a hunter found out about demons, so it was just memorable." He began to laugh. "You're the only one who, in my entire life, banged two trashcan lids against a vampire's head."

Shawn began to chuckle. "And I'm betting you haven't forgotten Gus's reaction?"

Sam grinned. "How could I? Or that nice scream he deafened me with?" He paused. "Hey. You're not psychic, are you?"

"Not really, no."

"Then why do you lead them on?"

"Ahhh . . . Long story. And I happen to know you aren't really with the FBI, are you Mr. Sideshow Mel? Or your partner, Sideshow Bob?" **

"What?" Sam checked his fake badge, then groaned.

"Simpsons. Pretty popular show, but you should know they have the weirdest names there . . ."

"Alright, we're even. So how did you convince them you're a psychic?"

"Simple. You ever watch The Mentalist?" He then went on to explain his gift, and how exactly everything worked out, from one thing to the next. Forty minutes later, Sam had his head in his hands, resting against his knee.

Shawn was still going on, "And I will warn you right now, pineapples do NOT taste good with popcorn. They're like smoking, you hate the taste but you just can't stop-"

"Mr. Vanhorn? Shawn?" McNab stepped in. "Sorry if it's a bad time, but we kinda have a problem down at the pier."

"Yes!" Sam jumped up and ran out of the room, pushing past McNab.

Shawn stopped talking abruptly. "Huh. Guess it was something I said."

Gus met Shawn just outside the room. "What where you two doing? It's been nearly an hour!"

"I'll tell you in the car. But lemme tell ya: you're in for a surprise."

"What?" Gus leaned in and whispered, "I knew it! The doctors at the hospital finally found out who you really are!"

"What? No they didn't! I mean," Shawn looked both ways, "no- no one would've found out that quick, right? I think I had my face pretty well covered, right?"

"They could still see your eyes."

"What, do they really keep security cameras in operating rooms? Because it wasn't my fault the real doctor was late- wait, no! It's not that! You remember junior high?"

"What about it?" Gus shrugged.

"Whoa. You seriously can't remember?"

"All I remember is Skid Morgan, that bully who got electrocuted in the basement. And your dad really closing in on your future in police work. And Sam Winchester . . . Oh."

"Yeah. VanHorn? Simpsons."

"Wait- why's he here? I erased that memory long ago, Shawn. I'm not getting dragged back into your messes with any ghosts."

"Technically a vampire."

"Whatever. I refuse to get into it again." He started for the car, leaving the station. Shawn pushed open the doors, following.

"Oh, c'mon, Count Chocula. It's our chance to be demon hunters. Save a few lives, pick up Miss Chocula . . ."

Gus pursed his lips at that. "Alright. But don't call me Count Chocula in front of Sam. And didn't he have-"

"Count Chocula?"

"Whoa!" Both men turned around. Sam was standing to their right, next to the Impala they hadn't noticed. He was holding the driver's door open, like he was about to get in.

"Dude. Say hello first." Gus glared at Shawn. "And I don't believe we've seen each other since you were a kid."

"We, technically. And w didn't even know your names."

"Than allow me to introduce us. We know that you are Sam Vanhorn. I am Shawn Spencer, psychic detective for the SBPD. And this is Homer G. Flanders. Aka Magic Head. Aka Count Chocula. Aka Guster. Aka-"

"Shawn," Gus warned. Sam laughed.

"Nice to meet you two after so many years. But uh, I think we should get to the pier, if you want to solve this case . . ."

"Ooh! Almost forgot. Meet you there."


You'll see Dean in the next chapter, I promise. And we start to have a little fun in the next chapter . . . *evil laughter*

*- Couldn't resist. All rights go to Matt Groening, I own none of the Simpsons characters.