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[personal profile] last01standing
Title: Back to the Future Part... Murder (4/7?)
Disclaimer: Psych is not mine. It should also be noted that this is loosely inspired by Life on Mars which is also not mine.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: While the SBPD tries to piece together a twenty year old cycle of murders, Shawn Spencer finds himself thrown back to 1989, as the killer surfaces for the first time.
Author's note: Probaly the most down to earth, reasonable, logically plotted story I have ever written. except for all the time travel

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There was a witness.

It took Shawn six phone calls, two fake names, a badge number and a story about a leprechaun, a piñata and a hot air balloon to find that information, but there was a witness. There was a witness from Arizona and there was a witness in Santa Barbara if the police scanner Shawn had stolen from his father’s car was to be trusted.

Only a few minutes later did he recall the same incident from his youth, when his father came back raging about the incompetence of his partner and the necessity of locking car doors.

His memories were merging with the present and he still couldn’t remember what he’d been doing in the moments before he’d woken up here. He had a vague suspicion that it had involved being stabbed but that was a gimme considering the gaping knife wound in his stomach.

But his every instinct screamed at him that this case now, this was connected somehow. This could get him back to everything he knew. Back to Gus and Psych, back to his dad, Juliet and Lassiter.

He wanted to get back.

He looked at his list of notes in his loose, scrawling handwriting. He wasn’t good at this he needed help.

He needed Gus.

Only Gus wasn’t here. So he did the next best thing and went to find Lassiter.


Only one would be hit. Lassiter was sure of it. If this was the guy, only one of these three targets would be hit. The public library. The boardwalk. The courthouse. The locations were wildly different The MOs would require drastically different styles. With the resources on hand, it would be damn near impossible to cover them all at once.

“One of these things is not like the other,” Gus said absently. “I wish Shawn were here. He’d have figured it out already.”

“He’s not here.”

“Yeah but—”

“He’s not here Guster and he’s not going to be able to help us. So get your damn head on straight and think.”

“This is pointless,” Gus said. “No one gives you this much time. He’s stalling. He’s got to be.”

“Stalling for what?”

Gus knew what he wanted to say. Stalling because of Shawn. Stalling because Shawn had done something to mess up his plans.

“You should prepare yourself for the worst,” Lassiter said, his voice gentle. “The longer he’s gone, the less likely it is weren’t going to get him back.”

“What do you care? You don’t even want him back.”

Lassiter’s blue eyes were circled by dark smudges and Gus thought it was the first time he’d spoken of Shawn with anything but contempt. “Guster, I’d give my left arm to see Spencer walk through that door right now.”

Both of their gazes swing toward the door mouth but Shawn did not appear.



When he found Lassiter, the man was furious. It looked good on him. Made him look older and if Shawn let himself drift he could imagine the real Lassiter, his Lassiter spun into a frenzy just the way he liked him. “You!” He hissed, turning on Shawn. “I’m not sure how, but this is all somehow your fault.”

“Fault, Lassie?” Shawn echoed. “How could I have done something like that? I haven’t seen you in like three days.”

“I got to my engineering class this morning only to find I’m not on the class roster because... somehow... I’ve managed to become enrolled in criminology.”

Shawn cocked an eyebrow. “I refuse to see how this is a bad thing.”

“In case you didn’t know, I am a electrical engineer. Who needs a lot of classes that are in his major.”

“Electric engineering is not for you,” Shawn said, his fingers unconsciously creeping their way up to his temple. “I am sensing a different path.”

“I’m sensing bullshit. How did you manage to change my class schedule.”

Shawn held out the small gray student ID badge without even an ounce of shame. “Everything’s a hell of a lot easier if you can present some form of identification. Doesn’t even matter that it’s obviously the wrong guy.”

“Great, just great, now I’m going to have to go take to a professor to see if I can get back on the roll for the right class.”

“Who’s to say the right one’s not criminology?”

“Who the hell are you and what is this obsession you have with me?”

“I told you. My name is Shawn. I think you could be a hell of a detective.”

“Really, because I’m calling the cops.”

“I am a cop,” Shawn insisted brazenly. “Or did you forget? I’m working on a side project. Profiling. Someone passed your name onto me. Said you’d be good at it. I need your help.”

“There are people trained in that.”

“But I’m not asking them. I’m asking you.”


“Come again?”

“Why are you asking me? Out of all the people at this university, why would you possibly pick me?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was a psychic?”

“Not even a little.”

“Does it really matter why I’d pick you? Come on man, this is a chance to help people. Make a difference. You can’t tell me you don’t want that.”

Lassiter fell silent for a long moment.

“You in or you out?” Shawn demanded.

Lassiter stared at him and he could see the exact moment he’d made the decision. The rounding of his shoulders, a tinge of unwilling excitement in his eyes.

Shawn felt his breathing even out, the pain from the collapsed lung subsiding to a dull ache.


The dates on the note cards came and passed without notice. The SPBD pulled in outside help, had all three sites fully manned but nothing happened. Nothing at all.

Somehow, that made it worse. Gus found himself almost bouncing on his feet. Flitting between the police station, Mr. Spencer’s house and the hospital where Juliet O’Hara was still recovering. He hadn’t slept since the blood report came back. It was Shawn’s. Absolutely, unquestionably, Shawn Spencer had been the victim.

There was no body. A week went past and there was no body. With only one exception, the bodies, the victims had all been found. Only Detective Shawn Savage twenty years ago had failed to be recovered.

No body meant it was still possible that Shawn was alive.

Gus walked into commotion at the Santa Barbara Police Department. Detective talking excitedly all around. He found Chief Vick and didn’t even need to say a word before she beckoned him back. “We may have a break on the three strike case. We have a witness.”

“A witness?”

“Lassiter’s in the interrogation room now.”

There was a crowd watching the interrogation and not for the first time, Gus realized just how well liked his friend really was. He’d always had charm but Shawn had difficulties forming lasting friendships. He was easily stomached for short spurts but people got tired of him. People realized Shawn didn’t have an off switch. It was the reason he’d had only one friend in high school and the reason he’d made such a good impression on people in the years ping-ponging from job to job.

This was different somehow. People where here because they were worried about Shawn. The were people who had known him for the past four years, still here, still his friend.

He wished Shawn could see it.

“Is he all right?” the witness asked. He was about fifty years old with graying salt and pepper hair and a pair of glasses. Despite the glasses and the pudgy midsection of middle age, Gus could tell he was an athlete in a his youth.

“Spencer?” Lassiter said. “That’s need to know information.”

“What’s he doing?” hissed one of the detectives. “You want to put him at ease. He’s a witness not a subject.”

“It was why I came in.”

“I thought you came in for the reward money?”

“I saw a guy get stabbed outside his office while I was trying to take a piss in an alley.”

“You know I could arrest you for that.”

“Look, I didn’t have to come here. I want to make sure that guy’s all right.”

They hadn’t released information about Shawn to the public. It had been the Chief’s idea, a way to push the killer into making a mistake.

“We’ll let you know as soon as we do,” Lassiter said. “Now tell me, what did you see?”

“The guy was dressed in black. Caught your guy Spencer coming out of the back of his office to take out his trash. Put the stuff in the dumpster and the guy jumped him. I didn’t realize what was happening until he spun around. Your guy made a grab at him, trying to hold on, but he’d been stabbed so it didn’t work out so well. He fell and the guy gave him a kick to the stomach and I realized I didn’t want to be the next one so I booked it out. Made my way back a few minutes later but the guy was gone so I didn’t worry about it.”

“Do you remember anything about the man,” Lassiter asked though Gus could see by the tenseness in his shoulders that he wanted to pummel the man. Wanted to make him pay for leaving Shawn alone to die.

“I don’t know. He was bigger then your friend. Dark hair. White. It was dark and I wasn’t exactly sober.”

“And why did you wait until a week later to take this to the police?”

“I couldn’t really do it before could I? The guy was gone, what was I supposed to do?”


“The witness is the key, Lassie.”

“You told me you were banned from the station, Savage. Something about recovering from a stab wound.”

“Can’t kill a guy who’s already dead.”

“Unless I’m very much mistake and you’re a vampire, I’m pretty sure it is something you and me both have to worry about.”

“Totally knew you were a closet fan of sparkly vampires, Lassie.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Shawn blinked, looking over to him, taking in the youthful face, the almost inky black hair and had to remind himself where he was. “Don’t worry about it.”

“So why are you so sure this all rests on the witness?”

Hunch. Gut feeling. The vague stirrings of memory. “Think about it Lassiter, this guy goes after cops. He’s bold and brazen and loves shoving it all our faces. This is the kind of guy who doesn’t just sit back and watch the show. He’s the kind of guy who wants a speaking roll.”

Lassiter hesitated for just a second before grudgingly allowing, “That’s actually not half bad.”

For a second he sounded so much like Shawn’s Lassiter that he swore he was back home.

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