Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or its characters, and no one is making any money off of this. No disrespect is intended to either the characters or the actors who portray them, it was just a silly brain worm that wouldn't go away until I wrote it down.

Rating: T, but only because I can't honestly see any actual kids reading this.

Spoilers: No spoilers, or shouldn't be. Completely AU, and probably kind of surrealist

WARNING: This story is really, REALLY stupid.

A/N: I'm very excited for Feb. 29th, and in particular I am excited, curious, and a trifle apprehensive about the upcoming episode entitled "Heeeeeere's Lassie!" which Omundson intimated would be about Lassie going, in some shape or form, at least a little bit out of his mind. In anticipating just what that episode might be about, I envisioned this silly little short-and-stupid one-shot.

The third day that Shawn Spencer bounced in his usual ebullient fashion into the bullpen of the SBPD and found Lassie not at his desk, he began to seriously worry. It was just downright unnerving, that's what it was. It was like finding a San Francisco cable car in your living room or the Washington Monument suddenly disappearing. It was just fundamentally end-of-the-fricking-universe wrong, that was what it was, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Jules, where's Lassie? Is he sick, or something?"

The pretty blonde detective gave him an odd look, as though he were wearing a spiral-cut ham instead of his usual faded jeans, or perhaps had asparagus spears sticking out of his nostrils. She said nothing, however, merely returned to her files. Shawn sat on the edge of her desk.

"Jules, come on, I'm seriously starting to freak here. Lassie not at work just seems so wrong."

She favored him once again with a sidelong, curious glance. A hesitant glance, worried. Freaked. She still didn't say a word.

"You're not going to talk to me, are you? Well that's just peachy, Jules. I'm only expressing concern over everyone's favorite irascible grumpy-gus, after maybe Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, but that's fine, don't answer me. I'll simply put my incredible and highly paid psychic powers to use and find out for myself."

"Who…who the heck is Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir?" she said at last.

"He's the bad guy in Dragon Age: Origins. Except he isn't a bad guy. Or he is, but you can salvage him if you want to. Look, I don't have time to divulge the entire plot and character manifest of the best-written dark fantasy video game series ever created and it's not important, anyway. It's all about Lassie right now." He flounced out of the station like an offended pop diva and hopped on his motorcycle. It was time to pay Lassie a personal visit.

He pulled up in front of Lassiter's modest rental house and was surprised to see a strange car in the drive. Surely the man couldn't possibly have a visitor, could he? No one visited Lassie at home, for the very real fear of being shot. He parked the bike and hopped up the stairs to ring the doorbell.

The man who opened the door was Lassie but…not. Very clearly not. Shawn thought for a moment that he must be seeing the fabled but never spoken-of long-lost surfer brother, although he'd never expected that he'd look so…so…Carltony. It was the same face, certainly, and the same brillliant blue eyes, but the hair was all wrong, and then some. Thick salt-and-pepper hair that stuck up in whorls and curls, a heavy salt-and-pepper beard - both completely alien and yet somehow they seemed to belong. His clothes, too, were wrong - a t-shirt and jeans and a pair of boots, casual kick-around-the-house clothes Lassie wouldn't be caught dead in. But stranger than the clothes and the hair and most especially the beard that had somehow grown to almost ZZ Top proportions in only three days was the expression the man wore when he opened the door. Friendly.

"Hey, how's it going?" he asked, and the voice was Lassie's, but there was no growl in it. Ohmygod, the Pod People have taken over Lassie's body!

"Lassie?" Shawn yelped, throat tight with shock. "Is that you under all that hair?"

The friendliness fell off the man's face, replaced by a certain degree of wariness and, Shawn thought, a kind of weary resignation.

"Look, let it go, why don't you? It's over. Move on. I have. Hell, I have an audition set up for tomorrow."

"Lassie, what - "

"Tim."

"What?"

"My name. Tim. Remember?"

"Lassie, are you sick? Should I call an ambulance?"

Lassiter sighed and glanced over his shoulder into the house, then stepped out onto the porch and closed the door.

"Oh crap, I know what this is - you're undercover, aren't you? This is some sort of sting and you've got the perp inside and I'm blowing your op."

"It's my family inside, and no, there's no 'op' going on."

"Family? Lassie, you don't have any family. Unless - is Lauren here? Because if so then Gus would probably really like to see her."

Lassiter grabbed his arms. "Look, I really like you - I do. Working with you all these years has been a lot of fun and I've enjoyed every minute of it. But the show's been cancelled. There is no Lassie anymore, no Gus, no Jules, no Henry, and no Shawn. You've got problems, my friend - seek help."

He went back in the house then, and Shawn heard him lock the door very deliberately behind him. Shawn stood on the porch, stunned and confused. Finally a single clear thought broke through his mental haze: Lassie's lost his mind. It was the only explanation. It was time to call for reinforcements, of the highly official variety.

They were all there, gathered in Chief Vick's office - Jules, Henry, Gus, the Chief herself, and even Buzz McNab. And leaning insouciantly against the wall by the door stood Lassie - or Tim, if that's who he thought he was - wearing the same jeans and boots but with a dark denim jacket pulled over his t-shirt, looking dangerously disreputable, which only solidified the case Shawn was prepared to make.

"Guys, gals, we've got a problem," he said grandly. "I've seen it coming for quite some time, and I'm sorry to tell you that Lassie has finally flipped his lid."

Jules and Vick shared an apprehensive glance, which somehow managed to spread to include the others gathered for his "big reveal."

"How…how do you figure that?" Chief Vick said cautiously. Shawn felt sorry for her - it wouldn't be easy for her to put her Head Detective in the booby hatch. Just the paperwork alone would be killer.

"Well, look at him," Shawn said, with a helpless gesture at the lanky man leaning by the door. "I mean, come on! Is this Lassie? No! Chief, he thinks his name is Tim. He thinks he has a family."

"My name is Tim," Lassie said gently, "and I do have a family."

"See?" Shawn exclaimed.

"His name is Tim," Jules said. "He does have a family. James, I'm really worried about you."

"What? Jules, who the heck are you talking to? Good Lord, it isn't a contagious crazy, is it?"

"Maggie. My name is Maggie, don't you remember?" Tears stood in her eyes.

"And I'm Dulé. Do you remember me, James?" Gus said.

"And I'm Sage," McNab added.

"And Corbin," Henry said.

"Dad, please don't join the crazy train."

"I'm not your father, James. You really need some help."

"Chief Vick - please, please tell me that this is some sort of practical joke. It is, isn't it? I get it now. You all cooked this up to get back at me for all the times I've punked you."

"My name is Kirsten," Chief Vick said, "and I think it's time you got that help, James. Gentlemen?"

Two men in white uniforms came forward and grasped Shawn by the arms. "Come on, Sir - come with us. You'll be okay."

"What? Wait! No! Where are you taking me?"

The others watched as he was dragged off set and loaded into the back of the van. "What a shame," Corbin said. "He's such a good kid."

"Job hazard of the method actor, I guess," Tim said. "We should count ourselves lucky we're not all in straightjackets along with him."

FIN