As a kid, Shawn thought the backpack was the greatest invention in the world. He Bedazzled it to death with baubles of patches and key chains. Hidden zipper pockets were bursting with pogs and pokemon cards. Everything glinted with gaudy '90s blare. Shawn took his backpack everywhere – to school, on camping trips, to the bathroom, and once with Gus to the library. It was stuffed with forgotten homework, old lunch, and rocks that resembled celebrities if you squinted. Shawn's backpack was the coolest out of everyone's in Santa Barbra.

It was also confiscated in his last week of fifth grade because Shawn wanted to celebrate freedom from elementary school with firecrackers. Only being a cop's son and the proximity to graduation kept Shawn from being expelled. Shawn also liked to believe his charm on the principal was part of it. He was grounded the entire summer – though he managed to sneak out with Gus. Shawn had never seen hide or tail of the awesome backpack since then. Like imagining that Principal Jenny had a soft spot for him, Shawn liked to believe all those years apart were preparation for this moment.

Snooping through old evidence in a long abandoned part of the precinct, Shawn found his backpack. The bright turquoise and highlighter green color scheme was still blinding even after two decades of dust. Shawn made a sound of glee as he bound to his lost possession.

"Is that what I think it is?" Gus gaped.

"Yeah! It's my old backpack! Remember when we smuggled power-ranger figures into the library? Oh – how cool was that?"

"You got me card revoked, Shawn."

"Pshaw, that would have happened eventually with how long you like to keep books."

Gus clucked his tongue. "I like to appreciate an author's word choice. It's not my fault the checkout time is so short."

Shawn waved him off in favor of inspecting his backpack. After wrestling with enough cobwebs to make a beard, Shawn found a hacky sack, an old book report, a sealed can of Pringles, and a set of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles stickers. Acting on impulse he peeled away Michelangelo and pressed him on Gus' shirt. The long dry sticker fell away like a twisting feather. Both men shrugged. It was worth a try.

"I have so many great memories of this thing," Shawn lamented. He slipped the backpack onto one shoulder. Funny, as a kid it seemed as big as a boat but now a grownup it felt no bigger than a fanny pack.

"No, Shawn. That's police property. You can't have it."

"Oh come on, Gus-stoppable. No one even remembers this is here. Even if they do it's an old case that's paperwork was finished in one day. The SBPD won't care if it goes missing; I will."

Gus' expression was similar to the Queen of England's if she was told cockroaches were in her kitchen. Shawn grinned stronger to overpower the disapproval as he led the way out of the evidence room. Cases could wait. He had to clean off the backpack and go buy snacks to fill it with, maybe locate his old Tamagachi.

Not two feet from the room, Lassiter was onto him. Shawn had to give him credit where credit was due, Lassiter was getting good. One day he might be able to solve a case without Shawn's hand-holding.

"Spencer! Where are you going with that evidence?" It was like getting barked at by a wire-coated terrier. Shawn didn't know whether to be amused or irritated.

"I was thinking of a date. You know, catch up on how we've been; remember old times."

With two steps, Lassiter was in Shawn's face, bearing his teeth. Oh this was fun! Playing with fire had always been a pastime of Shawn's; a gamble of luck and quickness. Playing with Lassiter was similar but hiked up on a more dangerous scale. If he undershot with a candle he got burned. If he undershot with Lassiter he would get scorched like a molten marshmallow.

"Spencer, that backpack is evidence and police property. Return it now before I discharge my gun into your spine." He stopped and stared. "Besides, you look ridiculous."

Shawn gasped with a dramatic hand to his heart. He halfway fainted on Gus who sent an affronted glare at Lassiter. Although he agreed with the Detective, Gus had the loyalty to support his best friend from Lassie-faced insults.

"If by ridiculous you mean really, really ridiculously good looking. Then yes. I do look ridiculous."

"You know that's right," Gus affirmed and Shawn took the statement as a compliment.

Lassiter growled. He actually growled like a bear being stung on the noise.

"Don't be such a sour-patch, Lassie," Shawn encouraged. "You look pretty ridiculous yourself."

Lassiter moved like he wanted to deck Shawn but Vick called his name, a shepherd whistling for her dog. Seizing with ire, Lassiter turned to the Chief's command. As Shawn and Gus knuckle-bumped at a successful burn, he had to wonder why such a lonely part of the prescient was getting so much sudden traffic. He was a trend setter, Shawn supposed.

"Mr. Spencer, we'll be needing your assistance."

"But Chief . . ." Shawn could hear ten different emotocons in Lassiter's sorrowful betrayal. The best example was D:

"Yes, Chief. As Chief I get to choose who to assign to what and I think this case is right up Psych's alley."

"Of course it's up our alley," Shawn sang, wrapping an arm around Lassiter's shoulders. He edged to Gus' side at the intensity of Lassiter's eyes. Shawn didn't doubt for a moment that the man might snap his arms. Vick watched the exchange and Shawn's backpack but decided not to comment.

"There's been a series of parrot-nappings from wealthy owners. The last attempt ended in murder on the crook's side. I need you three and O'Hara to go there and investigate. We have reason to believe there were two criminals involved because – "

"The parrot is missing," Shawn finished with dancing fingers to his temple. Vick made a shoeing motion like Shawn was a colony of mosquitoes.

"Bet we can get there before you!" Shawn shouted and sprinted down the hallway, Gus whining but keeping pace.

"Spencer! Spencer it's not a race! Spencer stop running – stop before you hurt someone! It's not a race! If it was a race I'd win!"

Her head detective barreling after a psychic PI, Vick questioned when her life had become so bizarre.

At the end of the week, Shawn's reclaimed backpack finally came in use. Cleaned and provisioned, the pack became a first aid kit, a toy box, a lunch bag, and in its final desperate moments, a heavy weapon as he slung it at Mario Santiago's left temple. Brother to Federico Santiago – murder victim and parrot thief, Mario had almost snuck back south of the border with a collection of hyacinth macaws worth 10k each. Shawn figured everything out, Mario's friend with the private plane, his drug habits and his hangout.

What Shawn overlooked was Mario's ruthless violence and self-serving tendencies; both of which got Federico killed. With Lassie late as usual, Shawn used his backpack to defend himself and a whimpering Gus from Mario's pistol.

To his dismay the backpack broke on contact. It spit at the seams, flinging a "Bop-It" at Mario's nose and gummy bears everywhere. Shawn swung it around for another strike, this time a "Connect Four" and all its plastic pieces jabbing Mario's eyes. Howling, Mario was defenseless as Shawn kicked his gun away. With a last thwack, Shawn crushed a bag of jaw-breakers over Mario's head.

He held onto the remaining tatters as Juliet and Lassiter finally arrived on scene. About time! Shawn had been stalling as long as possible but the show must go on. The two detectives rounded up Mario and had him cuffed while Shawn was still picking up his broken belongings.

"Shawn? Shawn, are you okay?" Juliet's voice stirred him from the languid trance he'd been in. Shawn checked over his shoulder for Juliet. Seeing Shawn's expression, she removed her sunglasses and hurried to his side.

"Shawn, are you hurt? Do I need to call an ambulance?" She pushed on his shoulder to turn him around for a proper look. Worry pinched her eyebrows together. "You are really pale. Like, really pale, Shawn.

"What's this about an ambulance?" Lassiter asked as he led Mario out of the warehouse.

"Nothing! Nothing. I'm fantastically fine," Shawn answered back with a wave. His other hand had the backpack in a stranglehold.

"He's just upset about his backpack," Gus informed.

"Heck yes I am!" He'd only just been reunited with it and the poor friend was torn to shreds. Its first day free from prison was also its last. The sentiment made Shawn sad. As did losing his Hungry-Hungry-Hippos game while fighting Mario. All those marbles would be a pain to pick up.

"Is that what this is about?" Lassiter scowled. Shawn didn't bother to answer, pouting as Gus patted his shoulder. Thankful that Shawn wasn't in mortal peril, Juliet tried to mask her relief with sympathy for Shawn's lost items.

"It looks like your backpack saved the day," she encouraged. Shawn nodded but whatever pride he felt for the backpack was overshadowed by his grief.

The next day, Shawn bounced as he walked as usual and did his best to ignore yesterday's events. As he turned a corner at the prescient, Lassiter barked his name and grabbed Shawn's shoulder. Before Shawn could catalogue everything that was happening, Lassiter shoved a backpack into his hands. Green and tan, the backpack was large enough for camping and covered in enough hard plastic to serve as a riot shield. Shawn noted the glint of a GPS tracking device in the weaving and ID card dictating 'If Found, Return to Santa Barbra Police Department'.

"For all the idiotic ideas you come up with, Spencer, carrying a first-aid kit with you is a good one," Lassiter grunted. He didn't look at Shawn, focused instead on explaining all the pouches and zippers and places for Shawn to store medicine apart from food.

"Lassie, you got me a backpack. That's downright sweet of you." Shawn couldn't keep the excitement from his voice. Lassiter stopped in mid sentence, eyes bulging.

"I most certainly did not. This is a Survival Pack. You and Guster moronic enough to almost kill yourselves every other week. Since you're working for the SBPD, it's my job to make sure your don't screw up so bad you leave a black mark on the precinct. "

Shawn leaned forward and pecked Lassiter's lips. Pink blush smeared across Lassiter's nose and the man stood in a paralysis long enough for Shawn to duck away and out before the man got the better of himself and attacked.

"Don't worry, Lassie! I won't tell anyone that you've got a bigger heart than Juliet!" Shawn bellowed as he ran.

For all of Lassiter's objection, he cared enough about Shawn to buy him a backpack to replace the one Shawn had lost. Although it wasn't nearly as cool as Shawn's old one, it served a more practical purpose. In Lassiter language, that meant he cared enough to go to the extreme in safety and functionality.

"Good! Because I don't!" Lassiter shouted back. His blush was full blown now and dark enough to give McNab a run for his money when drunk. Shawn smirked at seeing it just as he turned a corner.

"Keep telling yourself that, Lassie! I know your secret. You were the Grinch in another life and kept that three sizes big heart."

"Spencer, I will strangle you. And I won't care if the Chif herself is witness." Lassiter stomped toward him and Shawn skipped off to hide by Juliet.

Oh yeah. Backpacks were awesome.