This is a continuation of A Psychic, a Hunter, and a Werewolf Walk Into a Bar . . .

It will be a series which ties the two shows together with little stitches of one-shot love. There will be other stories outside of this, this is just to explore both series from a slightly outsideish POV and to show how they work out timeline wise.

No MAJOR timeline shifts have been made. All episodes are dealt with in canonical order. Because of the uneven number of epis, though, there will be some chappies that deal with only one show or the other episodically.

Spoilers possible--and really likely in fact--for every last episode of both. Current epis for the chapter will be declared in the notes.

Rated for language in some chapters. Because Dean has quite the potty mouth, Sam has been aping Dean since before he was old enough to know what that meant, and even Shawn's inexhaustibly easy temper can be riled with enough poking.

And I like to poke. :D

Disclaimer: I did mention that these are missing scenes, right? Implying they aren't in the show? If I owned either show--preferably both :D--they would not be missing. They would be canon. You do the math. :D


SPN - Barely pre-Pilot

Psych - Still pre-series. It's gonna take a while to catch up. :D

Dean fingered the buttons of his phone—an action he'd been repeating on and off for the last five minutes or so.

He was trying to decide if he should place a call.

The screen lit up as he pressed another button, hooded eyes locked on the contact displayed. He sighed and let the phone drop to his lap, head turning to the side to look out the window.

Two years was a long time. Maybe too long.

This was Sammy, though. His little brother. How could any amount of time be too long for family?

He closed his eyes summoning up a picture of his brother, then grimaced when he realized it was the memory of the last time he'd met his brother's eyes during The Fight.

His father's voice echoed in his head, the words bringing a wince now as it did then.

"You walk out that door, you don't ever come back."

Sam's eyes had widened briefly, then narrowed. He'd glanced at Dean—who'd been too damn frozen by the shock of the words to do more than stare dumbly—then walked out.

Oh yeah. That was how. Dean sighed and let his head fall back against the seat back, forcing the memory away.

Rubbing at a headache brewing just above his eyes, he growled, then punched the phone button and lifted it to his ear.

It took a few rings, then finally it was picked up.


Dean yanked the phone back at the unexpected voice, then blinked at the name displayed. Shawn Spencer.

Oh. Oops. Must have hit the down button to bring up the next name in his list.

"Hello? Helloooooo?"

Dean blinked again and put the phone back to his ear. Dammit all.

"Hi, uh, Shawn?"

There was a pause then, "Dean! Dude! Hey, what's up, man? Need help with another werewolf?" the other man asked with a chuckle.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah," he said dryly. "I've been hunting the damn things since I was fourteen, but I just don't know if I can handle it anymore. Won't you come save me?"

Shawn laughed. "Anytime, dude. Where are you?"

Dean looked at the sign sitting a few feet in front of his bumper at the side of a freeway. "Welcome to California!" it proclaimed.

"Here and there," he decided.

"Cool, cool. So if you don't need my help with a werewolf, then what's up?"

Dean frantically sought a reason for his accidental call. Somehow saying, "I meant to dial my little brother whom I haven't spoken to in years but I hit your number by accident," didn't seem like the right thing. Especially with the chick-flick undertones it carried.

And then it hit him.

"You still driving all over the freakin' country on that bike of yours?"

"Yup. Why?"

"Could you do me a favor?"

"Depends. If it's tall, furry, and has some nasty stink-ass breath, the answer is no." There was a beat. "The same goes for vampires, demons, and whatever the hell else kind of company you regularly seek out."

Dean grinned. "Not that kind of problem, dumbass."

"Just so we're clear."

"As mud. I want you to keep an eye out for someone."

"Is this someone female? And available?" Shawn asked, the leer in his voice more than obvious.

"Uh, no, dude, he's male and not looking and, also, my dad."

There was a pause.

"Okay then. Got a description?"

Dean rattled off his father's features and then explained that he didn't want Shawn to approach him, just wanted a call saying he'd been spotted.

"Why not? I could totally pass on a message-"

"No!" Dean squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that had been the wrong way to answer and praying Shawn let it go.

That was just what he needed. His dad to think he was spying on him. Plus, there was a better than even chance Shawn would end up on the wrong side of a blade or barrel of John Winchester's and that was a poor way to repay a friend helping you out.

To his eternal gratitude, Shawn dropped it.

"Okay. Sure. Hey, you need anything else? Because I have made the acquaintance of a very lovely girl named Mandi and I think she's gonna wander off if I take much longer getting our drinks."

Dean laughed, relaxing. "She hot?"

Shawn sounded offended. "Psh. She's a gymnast. And also, totally smoking hot, yeah."

"Don't let me stand in your way then, dude. Have fun."

"Oh we will," Shawn said. "We definitely will. See ya 'round."

"Later," Dean said and ended the call.

He stared at his phone a moment, then set it on the seat and reached for the gear shift.

Screw calling. It was easy to hang up on a person and it gave warning. He wasn't close enough to Palo Alto that Sam couldn't escape before he got there.

But if he just showed up unannounced . . . Yeah. Lot harder to hang up on a person standing on your doorstep. Or in your living room.

Merging back onto the freeway he pointed his headlights towards California and hit the gas.

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