Tricks, No Treats Part I

[musicalluna]

Title: Tricks, No Treats Part I
Fandom: Psych
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Shawn, Juliet
Genre: Drama
Warnings: None
Complete: Yes
Summary: Sometimes one trick is one too many.
A/N: This is such a bad idea. Posting before completion = no-no. *DOESN'T CARE*
Disclaimer: No ownie.

Shawn glanced away from the television screen on the wall of the Psych office at the sound of the door handle rattling, a handful of candy corn hovering near his mouth. For a moment he sat poised in waiting, the slow creak of the door audible in the momentary silence of the movie.

Someone screamed. He jumped, several pieces of candy corn dropping from his palm and he muttered an exasperated curse, shooting a dirty look at the TV screen where a teenaged boy was going down in an arc of blood. Sitting forward, his feet came down from their perch on Gus' chair. “Gus?” he called, fingers searching out the lost pieces as he listened for a response. A second later a blonde head peeped around the corner and he straightened. “Jules?”

“Oh, good,” she breathed, shoulders relaxing. “You're here.”

His eyebrows rose in response and he set the bowl of candy on his desk, ignoring the chorus of screaming now coming from the television. “I am. So are you. Is everything okay, Jules?” Her face was pale, eyes a little wider than normal, her purse clutched tightly to her front.

She took a deep breath, eyes darting around the room once more before coming to meet his. “I need to ask a favor of you, Shawn.”

He moved forward to put a hand on her shoulder, drawing her further into the room. “Sure, Jules, of course. What can I do for you?”

She stopped meeting his gaze as she sat down on the edge of one of the chairs, her fingers brushing at the strands of hair around her face. “Okay, look, Shawn. I'm not normally this kind of girl.”

She fixed him with a Look and he nodded dutifully. “No, of course you're not,” he agreed.

Leaning forward a little further on the chair, she lowered her voice and fixed him with a hard stare. “If you laugh at what I'm about to tell you, I will turn around and leave and you'll be lucky if you get a case for the next six months, do you understand?”

“Got it. No laughing.” He pinched the corners of his mouth, forcing them down into a clown-like frown.

Juliet edged the chair a little closer, so that their knees were almost touching as she shot another look around the office. Shawn put a hand on her knee. “Jules, will you relax? You're acting like an axe-murderer is going to jump out from behind the bookcase or something.”

She leveled a grave look at him and said, “I wouldn't be surprised.”

Shawn bit down hard on his cheek to smother the smile fighting for control of his face. “Oh?” he said innocently. His cheek twitched.

“I'm afraid something is going to try and kill me tonight,” she told him. She began stroking the ponytail hanging over her shoulder.

Shawn couldn't help it. He scoffed. “Jules, really? You never struck me as someone who'd be freaked out by a few Jack-O-Lanterns and some hooky spooky.”

“I'm not!” she exclaimed. “But something weird has been happening to me all day and I really just think—” She looked at him and he forced his expression flat. “A black cat ran across the steps of the station when I got there this morning. Then the bathroom mirror broke when I was in there this afternoon, Carlton and I found a dead sparrow at one of the crime scenes, I accidentally walked under this ladder that was spread out over the sidewalk of all places, I kept hearing the number thirteen everywhere—“

“It's Halloween, Jules,” Shawn said. “Of course you keep hearing the number thirteen everywhere.”

Juliet stood abruptly, marching over to the window and yanking the blinds up to reveal a fat, blood red full moon hanging low over the ocean outside. “The moon is red, Shawn,” she said pointedly.

His head wavered; he couldn't really refute that. “It's still Halloween though, Jules.”

“What are you telling me someone was following me around, doing this on purpose?” she demanded, sliding the blinds back down into place.

Shawn pasted on his most innocuous expression. “Isn't it possible?”

She sighed and moved back over, sitting back down in the chair with her arms around her torso, one hand rubbing at her forehead. “Please, Shawn. I know this sounds absolutely insane. I just—need you to stay with me, and make sure nothing happens. Can you do that for me?”

He took her hand, giving it a warm squeeze. “Of course I can, Jules.”

She smiled wanly at him. “Thank you.”

“So,” he said, clapping his hands to his thighs. “Where did you want to have this little sleep over? Gus was going to meet me here for a couple of scary movies later, but I can call him and tell him something came up. Your place or mine?” He began gathering up the food stuffs that had accumulated around the arm chairs he'd dragged in front of the television.

Juliet rolled her eyes. “Don't start getting ideas, Shawn. This is strictly for survival purposes.”

He held up his hands. “I wouldn't even conceive of attempting to make it something else. That was a purely platonic 'yours or mine'.”

A poor victim in the movie let out a shrill scream that cut off into wet sounding gurgles as the killer plunged a knife into her chest over and over and Juliet grimaced. “Do you seriously enjoy watching this stuff?”

Shawn grinned. “It's great for a quick thrill. And a good laugh. Some of the effects are terrible.” He pointed the remote at the set and the screaming woman disappeared, leaving the office quiet, but for the sound of the wind moaning softly outside. “Seriously though,” he said. “Where are we going to stay? I need to know if we need to stop by my apartment for some things.” He glanced over at her and a small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Jules?”

She sat stiffly in the chair, her hands clenched white knuckled around the arms, head turned toward the window.

Shawn flashed a quick uncertain smile, edging toward her. “Jules? Not funny. What's—”

Her head turned slowly toward him, eyes wide. “There's something outside, Shawn,” she whispered.

The handle on the front door rattled softly.