Yay! My first Psych fic! Everybody cheer!
Just a short little oneshot to quell my boredom. Yay!
I don't own Psych, USA network, monopoly, scooby-doo, or anything else.
Carlton Lassiter took a seat on the stool in front of the bar, staring at the counter until the bartender meandered up and asked what he wanted. After a mumbled reply, Detective Lassiter noticed a familiar, and not entirely liked, face on the other side of the bar. He was nursing the remnants of a tall glass of beer, but the look on his face suggested he had had a few beers already. Carlton tried to sink into the bar stool, to avoid the 'psychic' noticing him and engaging him in a conversation that he really didn't want to be in. He knew Shawn Spencer when he wasn't drunk, and he wasn't exactly good conversation then. Unfortunately, a rowdy and cheerful greeting came from his left, and Carlton pulled his head up.
"What are you doing here!?" Spencer slurred happily.
"Getting a drink. And thinking." Lassiter paused, and when the drunk newcomer didn't get the hint, he added, "In private."
"Oh! I love thinking in private! Can I join you?" Spencer asked. "And since I'm joining you, would you mind sparing a five?" Lassiter raised an eyebrow.
"Grubbing?" He demanded. "No way."
"Not grubbing. Asking politely. With a smile." He then presented a bright grin. Lassiter mumbled about childish behavior. Spencer simply continued his grin. "Only a five, Lassie. Could a puppy-dog face faze you?" He followed this inquiry with bright eyes, and a sullen face.
"Spencer. It's been a long day. I've been dealing with druggies, and kidnappers, and one thing I do not want to deal with is a hyper-active kid who thinks he sees dead people." Shawn smiled drunkenly.
"But- Lassie! I do see dead people. I am psychic. When I watched scooby-doo, I always knew it wasn't a ghost before they did." Carlton rolled his eyes and ordered a scotch, noticing his bottle, once-filled with beer, was empty. "So...?"
"Fine," Carlton grumbled, slapping a five-dollar-bill onto the counter. "Now is the part where you leave." Spencer laughed as he sat defiantly onto the stool beside Carlton, and picked up the bill.
"Sure. Hey, Bill?" The bartender turned. "My buddy here is sponsoring the next one!" The man shrugged, and muttered,
"Fine." He filled a mug with the dark beer, then slammed it in front of Spencer, who eyed it greedily like a kid who had gotten what he wanted for Christmas.
"The. Part. Where. You. Leave." Carlton told the young man beside him in a tone that warned of very bad pain. Spencer remained unfazed.
"So, any new cases you need my expertise on?" He asked, gulping a large sip of the beverage before him. "Cause me and Gus-" He smiled and nodded at his beer. "We're super close and Super awesome at catching-" he paused. "Baddies."
"Is that so?" Lassiter muttered.
"Yep!" Spencer confirmed. "Like- this one time- when we were kids- we saw this bully- and he was all like, 'I hate you', and we were all like, 'we don't care' and he was all like, 'I still hate-"
"Spencer! Even if this little story was going somewhere, do you honestly think I'd be interested?!" Spencer smiled.
"Lassie...you're like a little cheeseburger."
"Pardon?!" Lassiter demanded.
"You know- you're cheesy!" Spencer laughed at his drunk pun, as Carlton muttered that that was cheesier.
"Listen, Spencer. I get that you are drunk. I get that you are too damn stupid to know when to put a bottle down. I get that you think ghosts exist-"
"Ha! Lassie... you're silly."
"What?!" Carlton demanded, annoyed he had been stopped mid-rant. He had been building it up to something really good.
"Ghouls and ghosties don't exist!" The drunken man laughed, as he finished his beer, and pushed forward the change from the five for another. The bartender grudgingly obliged, pushing forward another mug. Carlton felt his breathing hitch, then he wondered whether Spencer was drunk enough to be stupid enough to incriminate himself.
"What about psychics?" Carlton asked casually. Spencer laughed and nearly fell off his bar stool, and Carlton quickly leapt forward and pushed him back on.
"Hehehe! Don't tell Karie-" Spencer giggled. Karie, Karie- Karen! Chief Vick. Carlton realized, with a smirk.
"I won't," He promised, lying through his teeth.
"Nope!" Spencer said, leaning forward to whisper wetly in Carlton's ear. Lassiter tolerated it for what he knew Spencer would whisper . "Psychics are like the chance of me getting a real job any time soon!" He giggled. "Non-existent." Got that right, Lassiter thought to himself. With lying to the Santa Barbera Police Department on your resume, a real job would be hard to find.
"Is that so?"
"Yep! Not my fault though," Spencer told him, downing the last of the large glass he had just received.
"Of course not." Carlton replied sarcastically, already handing him a five. He was in a good mood. By the next morning, Spencer would be in deep trouble. The man took it and quickly paid for another beer.
"My dad is one who drummed all this-" He swayed slightly and Carlton wondered how many beers he had. "-Detective-cop-superman into me. I would've been a fireworks salesman if it wasn't for him!" He proclaimed.
"Honorable profession." Carlton muttered, taking a small sip from his drink, knowing that he was destined to be Spencer's designated drive home.
"Yea- well. Not like I want this," Spencer muttered, falling to the depression part of drunkenness. He gestured to the bar. "But no... my dad. Cop is the only way. Cop was life. Coppers were like, everything."
"Sure." Carilton figured Spencer was just mumbling about nonsense, because he could NOT see a Shawn Spencer who respected lawmen.
"Then mom left," Spencer continued. "So dad got worse." He pushed forward the change and, in exchange, received a small beer. "Hat game." He scoffed.
"How many hats are in a room!" Spencer giggled and closed his eyes. "Fifteen. Three at the bar. Six in the booths to the right. Two red ones at the table in the front of the bar. Four in the booths to the left..." Lassiter glanced around and saw, to his amazement, that it was true. Spencer giggled at his left. "Yep. Hat game."
"Oh." Lassiter nursed his beer.
"Gus helped though," Spencer continued. "He wasn't-" He shivered. "Different. Afterwards. When she left." Carlton didn't know how to respond, so he stayed silent. This was apparently just fine for the 'psychic'. "Dad made me take dumb tests for the police station, and he gloated about my hundreds. Never said good job or anything, but."
"Fathers can be...um... like that." Carliton was out of his league.
"Then I called in that tip and met you, Lassie!" Spencer giggled. "You were maaaad."
"Yea." Lassiter rubbed the back of his neck, wondering where the hell this was going.
"Told the truth," Spencer mentioned quietly. "But you and your girlfriend didn't believe me, so... Psych!" He laughed. For a moment, Carliton thought he had been pretending somehow, but he quickly realized the man was so drunk he thought everything was funny, and that everything needed extra emphasis.
"Yea." He told him half-heartedly.
"Sixteen." Spencer mumbled. Lassiter spun to see a new person had entered the bar, a baseball cap resting on his messy brown hair. He turned back to Spencer, and saw he had collapsed basically, his head at an awkward position on the counter of the bar.
"Yea." He muttered unhappily, shaking the young man until his eyes squinted.
"Lassie...?" He mumbled.
"Just walk with me." Lassiter replied, annoyed. "I'll get you in my car and drive you home."
"...Thanks, Carly..." Carlton lugged him to his car, and grabbed out his wallet for his address. They soon arrived to a small apartment building, and Carlton parked awkwardly in the lot, avoiding the glass that was shattered there.
"Come on." He muttered, shaking Spencer, again, until the kid's eyes opened slightly. "We're here." Lassiter explained briefly. "Your place."
"Oh." There was a look of shock and gratitude on his face. At least, there was until it was turned into a blob as he threw his head down and puked in the parking lot. Carlton stepped back gingerly, thanking every single God he had ever heard of that Spencer had gotten sick outside of his car. It had to be a miracle. "Sleeping beauty needs a few winks." Spencer muttered, swaying to the steps that led to his apartment.
"Few hundred," Carilton corrected to himself, as he stepped into his car, after a quick glance over his shoulder. He watched the detective stumble into an apartment, then the door was shut. He stabbed in the key, and drove home. "Barely got buzzed," He muttered to himself, as he slid beneath his sheets.
"Hey, Chief!" Shawn said with a grin. "G'morning." She nodded curtly.
"Good morning, Mr. Spencer."
"Hey, Jules," Shawn added, seeing the young detective in the corner of the office. He also saw Carlton, and added, "Lassie." The man grunted.
"You look like hell." He muttered.
"I painted the town red, Carly."
"That so?" Something in his tone disconcerted Shawn, but he still had a killer headache from his beer run the night before. He and his dad had both been pissed after some fight- he couldn't really remember it. The night's events were foggy memories.
"That is so, Lassie. Me and Gus played monopoly." Shawn told him, lying easily, and coming up with most unbelievable, and most believable, alibi. Juliet raised an eyebrow and smirked, Chief Vick rolled her eyes and sighed heavily, and Carliton didn't respond. Chief Vick turned to Carlton.
"So- Detective Lassiter. You said you had some news, and you wanted Mr. Spencer here?" A look of hesitation passed over the detective's face. "Carlton?"
"Lassie- I promised Gussie that we were gonna have a rematch." Shawn didn't actually have any plans, but he didn't want to spend his day in the office, waiting for Lassie to make up his mind.
"Rematch Spencer?" Lassiter questioned. "Chief Vick- I'm sorry I took up your time. I don't have anything to say. Right now."
"Then get out there and do your job." The woman replied heatedly, annoyed. Jules looked at her partner strangely.
"Spencer." Lassiter interrupted. "Outside. Now." Shawn didn't know what else to do.
"What's up?" He asked, as he joined the detective outside.
"It teaches you the value of a dollar. Sort of." Shawn replied. He tried to ignore the penetrating and skeptical glare that Lassiter had fixed him with.
"Last night a big fog, huh, Spencer?" Shawn wasn't psychic, but this sounded bad.
"I was there, Spencer."
"Where?" The innocent act was getting old fast.
"Can it. Fifteen, Spencer. Or was it sixteen?" Shawn stared at him, confused. The numbers sounded familiar, and that couldn't be good.
"Hats. Sixteen hats." Shawn felt the color drain from his face, and his legs go limp. As he began to fall back, he grabbed the wall for support.
"W- You...-" He didn't know how to respond. Then he grinned. "Joke, Lassie! Psych!" The detective wasn't buying it. The grin weakened. "Are..are you going to tell them."
"Did I?" Lassie replied iciliy.
"What did I say? You have a photographic memory. I'd think you'd know this." Shawn nearly cringed at the mention of his lie, but he nodded slowly. He continued on to mumble the detective's part of the conversation, finishing with,
"Chief Vick- I'm sorry I took up your time. I don't have anything to say. Right now." Shawn offered. He was about to say, 'Spencer. Outside, now', when the implications of what he said hit him. "...Thanks, Carly..." Something sounded familiar in what he had just said, and the soft smile from Carlton assured him he had said it the night before. A memory clobbered onto him. "Sorry I puked at you." Shawn mumbled listlessly.
"You didn't puke in the car though." Lassiter told him with a shrug.
"If you had, would you be a free man, 'psychic'?"
"Lemme ask the spirits," Shawn replied, raising a timid forefinger to his temple.
"I'm psychic enough to know this one," Carliton assured him.
Yep! That was it. Sorry if you didn't like it! Sorry if Shawn was OOC, but... he was drunk! Blame it all on the beer! Sorry if the ending was bad, but, you know. I just wanted it up because this is the first psych thingy I've done (cheer again) and...yea.