Warning: This is a Lassie-centric crack-fic! For those of you who don't know what that means, it's an entirely non-sensical fic, written for pure entertainment, or out of pure boredom. Or, in my case, as a result of a late-night IM between myself and three other writers. Braaaaaaiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnsssss.
I don't own Psych. And even if I did before - I wouldn't now. They would've ripped the rights right out of my hands for this.
The Day Shawn Spencer Tried to Take Over the World
"You have the right to an attorney!" Head Detective Carlton Lassiter suddenly exclaimed, bolting upright. He blinked in confusion, looking around at the empty office. He glanced down and saw a small puddle of drool on his desk from where he had been sleeping.
"What the-" He suddenly hissed in pain as a sharp pain shot through his side as he tried to get up out of his chair. He clenched at his side and stumbled forward, looking for any sign of life in the seemingly deserted office. "Hello? Karen? McNabb? O'Hara! Anyone here?"
He whirled when he heard a faint moan coming from Vick's office. "Alright, who's here?" he demanded, striding towards the door, the sharp pain having dulled to a faint ache.
"Carlton? Carlton, is that you?"
"O'Hara?" Lassiter called, his stride quickening slightly at the sound of panic in her voice. Since when had Vick's office been so far away from his desk? He felt like he'd been walking for a long time.
Finally he reached forward and pulled the door open. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head at the sight in front of him.
Juliet O'Hara was kneeling in the largest puddle of blood Lassiter had ever seen. In the center of the blood was Interim Chief Karen Vick, her eyes wide and glassy, her lips parted slightly, and her torso and skull torn open and looking oddly like molded plastic. "What the hell happened here?" Lassiter breathed, aghast.
O'Hara turned her eyes to him. He frowned at the sight of bright red tears streaming down her face. "He - he came. He's taken over everything, Carlton. Everyone's brains. And spleens. And gallbladders. He took them all. He's gone mad with the power of the cerebral organic matter, Carlton! We've got to do something!" she cried. "If he wins, the Teletubbies will take control of all pineapple, and that's just not cool!"
"What are you talking about, O'Hara? What's going on?" Lassiter demanded, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her hard. "Speak some sense!"
Suddenly there was an almighty crash from outside the office, causing O'Hara to scream in fright and Lassiter to jump. "Wait here," Lassiter ordered O'Hara, striding for the door again despite her spluttered protests. Once again, the distance to the door seemed phenomenally longer than it ever had before.
"What in the name of justice is going on around here?" he snarled, throwing the door to the office open and stepping out. His jaw practically touched the ground.
Contrary to the way he had left it, the station was now crawling with people. Most just walked around, eyes glazed over, drool dribbling out of their lips, unearthly groans rumbling in their throats. After a moment, Lassiter faintly recognized the moans as, "Piiiinnneeeapppllleee. Brrrraaaaiiiiinnnnsss." The words weren't as odd as the sight that currently held his attention.
Burton Guster was darting around between the desks in the bullpen area. His arms and legs were thin and scraggly, his eyes were huge, and his ribs were clearly visible in his scrawny chest. He dug through the desks, a crazy look on his face, before his eyes fell on Carlton. "Prrrreeciousssss," he hissed, darting behind O'Hara's desk.
"What the hell?" Lassiter exclaimed, reaching for his sidearm. His eyes bulged again as his hand wrapped around something in his holster that was definitely not a gun. He brought his hand forward and saw a small rubber chicken dangling from his hand. "You have got to be kidding me."
"Musssst find the precccciousssss," Guster hissed, poking his head out around O'Hara's desk. His large watery eyes darted around before coming to rest on Lassiter's desk. His lips curled into an evil smirk, revealing sharp, pointy teeth. "Yesssss," he exclaimed, hurling himself at Lassiter's desk.
"Oh, no you don't!" Lassiter roared, sprinting toward his desk. He growled in frustration as the distance between him and his desk suddenly seemed to double. "No!" he exclaimed as Guster scrambled onto his desk, clutching his stapler in his scrawny hands.
"My prrrrecciousssss," the younger man… thing… being?… trilled, cradling the stapler to his chest.
"Hands off, Guster. Don't make me have to tell you again," Lassiter barked, nearly colliding with a dazed McNabb in his rush to get over to his desk, which was not getting any closer.
Lassiter froze, then whirled around. Shawn Spencer was standing there, arms folded, looking completely like himself with that annoying smirk on his face and a gleam in his eyes. "Spencer! You're… well, not normal… but you! I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I think I may actually be not pissed at seeing you. What on earth is going on?"
Spencer's smirk morphed into a cocky grin. "What are you talking about, Lassie?"
Lassiter blinked and growled. "Damn it, Spencer, I don't have time to play around. Someone murdered Vick, O'Hara's scared stiff, Guster is… well, not exactly sure what he's doing, other than invading my personal space, and everyone else is…"
His voice trailed off as everyone in the station suddenly seemed to materialize behind Shawn. They all leered at him, arms outstretched. "Everyone's just fine, Lassie," Spencer declared, his maniac grin growing wider.
Oh, crap, Lassiter thought silently. The gleam in Spencer's eye definitely had an evil look to it.
"Masssster, I've got the prrrrecccioussss," Guster suddenly hissed from somewhere down by Spencer's feet. Lassiter blinked, and Guster was suddenly crouched in front of the psychic, still clutching the stapler.
"Good, good," Spencer replied distractedly, taking a long sip from a gigantic smoothie cup that had suddenly appeared in his hand. He smacked his lips, looking from the barrel-sized cup to Lassiter. "Nothing beats a pineapple-brain-gallbladder-spleen smoothie, as I always say. It's just missing one thing," he cackled, his eyes suddenly taking a hungry gleam. "I need your spleen, Lassie."
"Psycho say what now?" Lassiter exclaimed, backing up a few steps. "You mean you - Karen - that was you?"
"It's fine, Carlton," Vick suddenly called, stepping forward from the otherwise faceless crowd. Her chest wasn't torn open anymore, although there was still a pretty good-sized hole in the side of her head. "Join us, Carlton. You know you want to."
"Yeah, Lassie. You're the only one left. You may as well join," Spencer declared with a crazy grin.
"I'm the - what about O'Hara? O'Hara!" Lassiter called, taking another step back.
The blonde suddenly appeared behind Spencer, her arms draped around the psychic's neck, a glazed look in her eyes. "Yes, Carlton?" she crooned sweetly before pressing her lips into Spencer's neck. There was a dark hole on the top of her head.
"Just give it up, Lassie," Spencer declared, reaching up to thread his fingers through O'Hara's hair. "I win."
Lassiter's eyes suddenly popped open. He took a few deep breaths, glancing around frantically. Next to him, a monitor beeped softly. He took in the stark white walls and the stiff sheets under him, and realized he must be in the hospital. What happened? he wondered.
Gradually he became aware of voices floating in from the open doorway. "…Just lucky the bullet nicked his spleen and nothing else," Vick was saying.
"I still wish they would've let me keep the spleen," Spencer whined. Lassiter's eyes widened.
"Shawn, that's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard of. Oooh, how about we watch The Two Towers?" O'Hara asked as the clashing sounds of a battle coming from a TV drifted in through the door as well.
"No way," Guster said firmly. "Last time I watched this, I got nightmares."
"He's scared of Gollum," Spencer revealed casually, a definite smirk in his voice.
Lassiter closed his eyes, pressing the button that would release more pain meds into his system. Maybe, just maybe, since he got away from the last nightmare, he could get away from this one, too.
A/N: Quick poll: anyone else burst out laughing at the thought of Lassiter saying, "Psycho say what now?" Anyone? Just me?
Oh well. Feedback is always appreciated, and any flames will be used to warm my cold feet. Braaaaaaiiiiiinnnnnsssss...