#dw i have shules and shawngus fics planned too. this lil guy is getting shipped with everyone uwu

[dickytwister]

WIP DAY

tagged by: @nuclearstorms tagging: @stars-of-the-heart @perseus-veil @stacispratt @paralytic-states @shellibisshe @strafethesesinners @judasofsuburbia @hopecountyisforlovers @wewillryesagain and whoever wants to do it!!! in an unprecedented turn of event, i will finally post a wip on wip day,,,,,,, i have fallen deep inside the psych rabbit hole and i am now writing shassie fics so this is what you're getting god bless and amen 🙏🏼🙏🏼 i'll try to post oc writing next time i'm posting a wip teehee!!! and thanks for tagging me bones mwah mwah and mwah

It all happened incredibly fast, and yet Lassiter could still see the last ten minutes play out behind his eyelids like detached scenes from a movie.

Shawn had called him at an ungodly hour of the night, rambling like a madman about a psychic vision so strong it had woken him up—Lassiter highly doubted that, just as he did the mere fact of Shawn being a psychic in the first place. He’d given him a location and had nearly begged him to come as fast as possible.

The Riviera Parlour was the kind of high-end restaurant that Lassiter had only ever dreamt of setting foot into. With a waiting list the length of his arm and a menu that averaged his bi-weekly salary, dining there had simply been out of the question. He’d only considered the idea once, a few months after his separation, hoping that Victoria would have seen in this gesture just how devoted he could be, if given another chance.

Shawn, with his green Henley shirt unbuttoned at the neck and pale blue jeans, had seemed out of place in front of the gold ornaments that decorated the facade of the restaurant. What’s more, the torrential rain had soaked him from head to toe, his hair matted to his forehead and clothes sticking to his body like a second skin. He’d looked all the part of a mutt left to sleep in the doghouse, and Lassiter had had half a mind to scold him for taking his bike in such weather. He’d instead held his tongue, had stared expectantly at the other man with a pinched grimace.

The door had been unlocked—Lassiter had glanced at Shawn with a raised eyebrow only for the latter to shrug and squeeze past him into the restaurant. The glow of their flashlights had casted eery shadows on the walls as they’d wandered, Lassiter forcing Shawn to stay behind him even as the faux-psychic had held his fingers to his temples and guided him deeper into the restaurant and into the kitchen.

He’d ‘divined’ that the evidence they’d needed to tie their suspect to the murders was in the walk-in freezer. How he’d come to that conclusion, Lassiter had no idea, and he hadn’t bothered to ask. Cautiously, gun held tightly in his fist, Lassiter had pushed the freezer’s door open and walked in. Shawn had stayed behind to hold the door, peaking curiously with his head tilted sideways, eyes darting across the room with barely concealed interest.

And then, just as Lassiter had been about to complain about the flagrant lack of evidence, Shawn had yelped and stumbled forward, holding the back of his head with one hand as the door had banged shut.

A deafening silence had hovered over the room for two, three full seconds before Lassiter had launched himself at the door. He’d pulled and pushed at the handle, banged his fist on the cold metal and the thick glass of the window, yelled himself raw, to no avail; the door had remained firmly shut, and their suspect had fled, taking with him their only chance of getting out anytime soon.

Leaning against the door with two fingers pinched against the bridge of his nose, Lassiter forced himself to remain calm, even as Shawn’s rambling, which had been going on since Lassiter’s attempts to open the door had failed, went on and on with no sign of stopping.

“Think anyone’ll get mad if I eat some of these frozen raviolis? I didn’t eat before I left and I’m getting a tummy ache, which is seriously messing with my psychic abilities–”

“If you’re not going to help me find a way out of here, kindly shut the hell up,” Lassiter snapped, glaring intently at Shawn as the latter examined the contents of the shelves. There was no mistaking the tremor in his shoulders, previously soaked clothes now frozen solid on his body.

“Don’t worry, I already have a plan,” Shawn assured confidently, though that didn’t mean much when his voice trembled with every word he spoke. “We turn into icicles and, in ten years, they bring us back to life Michael Beck style.”

“Can you be serious for one second? It’s your fault we’re in this mess.” Then, with a frustrated huff, “And who the hell is ‘they’?”

Shawn shrugged with a vague wave of his hand, and Lassiter had to physically stop himself from reaching for his gun.

“Did you tell anyone else about your hunch?”

“You mean my vision.”

“No, I mean your hunch. Answer the goddamn question, Spencer.”