The Voice of Shawn

Shawn Spencer, psychic detective, pineapple enthusiast, one time foot and ankle model and, apparently, vessel to the Voice of God, Metatron. That last one was not going on his resume any time soon.

I've been watching too much Psych and Supernatural reruns. I wanted to do a one-shot crossover, but being as I always screw around the point the story bloated. This is heavily Shawn-centric, does feature Winchester goodness in later chapters, contains an OC and a half and hopefully gets a few good laughs in. Enjoy.

Neither Psych nor Supernatural is mine. Rated T for my (lame) attempts at humor and a potty mouth.


Chapter 01

In which our hero craves a burger and is spied on by a mystery woman

Shawn Spencer stared at the ceiling. To the untrained eye it looked like the renowned psychic detective was in the middle of doing nothing, held hopelessly in the throes of unlimited boredom. In truth he was in the middle of counting the number of pencils he had flicked into the formerly unblemished white overhead, all of them making a shaky row above him. It was hardly 'doing nothing', and he was contemplating pulling them all out and starting again, this time maybe in the shape of a pineapple. It would prove a challenge. He liked challenges.

Speaking of challenges, he had another one on the brain. There had been two unusual deaths in Santa Barbara in the past week. The first was of a teenager who got into his father's gun collection; he apparently pulled the trigger of one, was surprised when it merely clicked, peered down the barrel and pulled it again, to which it went off. The second was of a middle-aged man who seemingly drowned in two feet of water when he got stuck in a sewer grate while trying to retrieve his car keys. Shawn believed in stupidity, if not coincidences, but this seemed above average even for his town. So that was challenge number two.

Challenge number three, and this was the one that liked to sit around the base of his brain and nest there, much to his infuriation, was Declan Rand. The guy had shown up out of the blue, proven himself just as adept at solving crimes and had the nerve to be charming and filthy rich as well. To make matters worse, he was also currently dating Juliet. Shawn frowned at the pencils. This particular challenge he didn't like so much, but he knew he would need to tackle it along with the others in due time.

But only on a full stomach. Shawn decided that the perfect pick me up would be a double bacon cheeseburger and a pineapple smoothie, and so the moment his best friend walked into the office he said, "Dude, let's hit an In and Out. I feel like getting something traditionally greasy to clog up my arteries."

"Shawn, I just got here," Gus said, looking annoyed. "And do you mind? I'm behind on my route already because you decided to lift all my ties except for the one with Sylvester eating Tweety on it."

"What are you complaining about? That tie looks great on you."

"It's unprofessional, Shawn."

"I gave you that tie for last Fourth of July."

"I still fail to see how it's patriotic."

Shawn shook his head. "Because Sylvester represents the… You know what, the explanations can wait. Food, good, now." He stood up and grabbed his jacket, heading for the door. "Let's go, I'll drive," he said, taking the keys out of Gus' hand as he walked past.

"Oh no you don't, I'm driving," Gus said, grabbing the keys back from him and exiting the door first. "The last time you drove the car ended up plunging through the Santa Barbera beach."

"It survived."

"It's not an ATV. You're lucky the water didn't damage the engine," Gus said. "Let's just go before I lose my thirst for a chai green tea latte – which you're paying for, by the way."

"Fine, fine," Shawn said, following his friend out the door. "Hey Gus, spot me a twenty?"

Gus glared at him, prompting Shawn to give him a grin, and the two of them entered the Psychmobile in search of an In and Out to fuel Shawn's early lunch cravings.

Opposite from the Psych office, a woman in grey wool cardigan, pastel pink blouse, a long scarf and glasses with thick, black rims watched Shawn and Gus leave. She gave her ice cream cone a few more contemplative licks and then fed it to a puppy that had been staring up at her from where it was tied to a post. And then she disappeared, startling a passing jogger, who later attributed it to dehydration, chugged from a water fountain, and thought no more about it.

Continued