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obsidiancreates · 10 months ago

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Henry Spencer Is A Bastard (With A Broken Nose)

Shawn and Jules have been living together for two weeks when Jules storms into the precinct, grabs Lassiter by the arm, and drags him into the interrogation room.

“O’Hara, what the hell is-”

“You’ve spent time alone with Henry,” she says, sitting Lassiter in the suspect chair. “What was he like?”

“What?”

“This is important, Carlton.”

Lassiter sighs, looking around the room for a moment before answering. “Unpleasant and judgemental. He had every quality of a great cop but none of an actual person I’d spend time with.”

“Which for you is saying something,” Jules mumbles, looking to the side. “Would-would you say you think he’s capable of intentional child endangerment or neglect?”

Lassiter sits up more. “What? O’Hara, what is this about?”

Jules takes a deep breath, looking down at her hands. “I was helping Shawn get some stuff from his old room, and we found an old journal from when he was a kid.It was mostly just doodles and half-finished homework, and he said to just throw it away, but… I kept it. I thought it was cute, to be able to look at what went through his brain as a kid.”

“O’Hara. If you’re alleging what I think-”

“I read more later while he was out with Gus and one of the pages was a failed writing assignment. He was supposed to write about what he did over the weekend and he wrote that his dad locked him a trunk and made him pretend to be kidnapped.”

Lassiter lets out a breath. “Okay. But you and I both know Spencer’s imagination-”

“Carlton, remember the kicked-out tailight? When he got shot?”

“O’Hara, I was with Henry through that whole investigation, and I don’t think I can say that the man I investigated with would purposefully hurt or neglect his son. He was like a machine through the whole thing.”

“There was more, though, Carlton. One of the assignments was to write about how they spent Easter and Shawn’s said he got cut on some glass trying to dig up his eggs. He drew a picture, it-”

She pulls out her phone and hands it to her partner. Lassiter looks at a crude drawing of a small stick figure on it’s hands and knees, overly-large shards on the ground in front of it, and an egg a good few lines below it. There’s a taller stick figure behind the small one, with a wide-open mouth and the words ‘You can do better, Shawn,’ written beside it.

The teacher’s note on the side says that Shawn needs to stop making up stories for assignments about his real life.

Lassiter hands the phone back. “O’Hara…”

Jules sits back in her chair a bit, the tension giving way to a slumped tiredness. “I know they’ve never had an… easy relationship, but Henry has always been so present, ever since we’ve known Shawn. I thought that was a good thing and Shawn’s discomfort was just Shawn being… Shawn.” She looks down at her hand in guilt. “What if I completely missed that he has reason, Carlton?”

Lassiter grabs one of Jules’s hands. “O’Hara, Henry Spencer is a bitter, unlikeable, and overbearing old man- but I really don’t think he’s capable of child abuse.”

Jules holds his hand back and gives it a squeeze. “I just… don’t know how to ask Shawn if these are real. He’s not exactly forthcoming about messy emotions and memories.”

Lassiter nods, and then blinks. “So let’s ask Guster. They’ve been stuck together like flies on a flytrap forever.”

Jules shakes her head. “If Shawn isn’t going to say anything, I really don’t think Gus will.”

“Well, you can either ask Guster if these are real, or you can worry about it forever and never get any answers.” Lassiter knows his partner well enough to know that’s unacceptable to her.

She gives his hand one more squeeze. “I’m just worried. Henry works here. He’s in charge of Shawn.”

“And I’m sure that when we talk to Guster about all this, we’ll learn that Spencer was just exaggerating like he always does.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gus reads the page with wide eyes. “Wait, he was serious about that?”

Lassiter stifles the urge to shout ‘Come on!’ when he hears Jules suck in a breath.

“You mean you knew about this already?”

“I mean, Shawn told me once that he liked Easter at my house way more because there was no ‘manhunt training’, but I thought he just meant something like when his dad would have him stakeout their porch.”

“He what?”

“It, sounds worse than it is. … I think.” Gus looks down at the old notebook again. “I thought. … I mean, Henry was always a little intense. When Shawn and I were boyscouts he used to set up challenges that were impossible to win, and then make us feel bad for not winning.”

“What do you mean, impossible to win?” Lassiter is starting to get concerned now. Shawn’s incessant need to show everyone up has been a pain in his ass for years, and if Henry reinforced that grating attitude and now acts like he tried to quell it-

“Stuff like telling us to go find a rocket in the middle of the woods and then going and grabbing it himself. He used to promise us ice cream if we won, then say he’d eat it himself if we didn’t win next time.” Gus’s face pinches the more he talks about the memories. “Gosh, I haven’t thought about that in years. I guess I didn’t realize how messed up that is until I said it out loud.”

“It’s horrible,” Jules says.

“But not criminal,” Lassiter reminds her. “And as… weird and dangerous as the eggs thing is, that’s not criminal either. … I think.”

“What about the trunk, Carlton?”

“... Yeah, that part’s looking pretty bad.”

Gus shuts the notebook. “We need to talk to Shawn about this. I don’t know if I’m even remembering right, but I know he will.”

“He’d never open up about something like this,” Jules says, gesturing to the notebook and letting her arms drop back to her sides with a flop. “He barely tells me about his childhood at all.”

“Well I was there for most of it, and I need to make sure I didn’t miss some serious abuse going down for our entire lives. Do you know how many times I’ve defended his dad to him, Juliet? … Oh my god, on that same boyscout trip with the rocket, he told me his dad had never said he loved him!”

Lassiter doesn’t need to look at Jules to know she’s probably seething with the rage of the entire underworld- if he believed in such a thing.

Henry better hope they find out it’s not as bad as it’s seeming.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Shawn gets home, Jules, Lassiter, and Gus are all sitting on the couch looking somber. Well, Jules and Gus look somber. Lassiter looks mildly offput.

“Guys! What’s all this, are we having some kinda surprise party?” Shawn looks around for decorations, but there’s nothing. He looks back with excitement. “Is it a case? A big one?”

“Shawn, sit down, we need to ask you about something.” Jules gestures for him to take a seat on a different chair.

“Uh-oh. That’s not your happy voice.” Shawn sits down and leans forward. “Hey, babe, what’s wrong?”

Jules takes a deep breath, and pulls out the notebook. Shawn looks at it. “Oh, that? Please don’t tell me that my drawing skills when I was eight are a dealbreaker.”

“Shawn, did Henry…” Jules falters. Shawn’s expression…

It doesn’t harden, per say. It just… shifts. Becomes a little closed-off.

“Spencer, did Henry actually make you dig through broken glass to find ridiculous holiday candy?” Lassiter says, offering Jules his hand for support. She takes it.

Shawn’s mouth quirks up in the corner, a huff-laugh escaping him. His eyes aren’t as amused, a dark look in them. “What? How-how’d you know about that?”

“Oh my god.” Gus looks sick.

“Guys, seriously, what is this?” Shawn reaches out and snatches the notebook, flipping through it. Fast at first, and then slower. The slight smirk disappears completely, and Jules and Gus know that habit of sticking his tongue over his teeth means Shawn is not in a good emotional space whatsoever as he reads.

He closes the notebook and tosses it onto the coffee table, sitting back into the chair and sniffling. “It’s uh- it’s nothing.”

“Dude, that is not nothing. I thought you were making that stuff up when we were kids!”

“What? Why would I make that up?” That just seems to confuse Shawn.

“Because you were always making things up!”

“Not about my dad! You were like, the one person I could talk about him with! You thought I was lying about everything the whole time?” Now he looks hurt.

“Not everything, but crazy stuff like him locking you in a trunk in the middle of a hot day and putting broken glass over your eggs, yeah! Oh my go- this makes me look back on everything I know in a completely different light, Shawn!”

“Okay, you can’t actually be this surprised, Gus. I mean, you were at my house all the time, you know how he was. We couldn’t even play hide-and-seek without me getting a lecture about hunting perps the right way.” The bitterness in his voice is familiar to his friends, the way he keeps from meeting their eyes, the arms crossed over his chest and tense body language. It’s not that they’ve never seen him like this. But they’ve never seen him like this and truly understood it. Even Gus.

Gus, who looks increasingly horrified as he thinks back on more and more memories. “When we were really little and you told me your dad would throw you out for reading comics, were you serious?”

Shawn scoffs a little. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Did he actually ban them?”

“... Yeah. That part he did. He said they made cops look bad.”

“Good god, Spencer, you’re talking like everything in your house was about cops twenty-four-seven.”

“Gee, Lassie, I wonder why. You’ve met my dad, right?”

“But you’re talking like he expected you to be a perfect cop from the second you were born.”

Shawn goes silent. He still won’t look at any of them.

“Oh, my god.” Jules reaches out to put a hand on Shawn’s knee. “Shawn, did he expect that?”

“... Look, guys, it’s… it’s done, alright? It is what it is, and… I’ve accepted that, and I’m working on making things work with my dad. I don’t… I don’t need this. Okay? I don’t want to think about it and get all…” He huffs. “Last time I thought a little too hard about all this stuff I ended up on my motorcycle with nowhere to go, and-and I don’t want to do that again, alright?”

“Shawn, this is important. We’re all working with Henry constantly, watching how he treats you, and this changes how some of that looks.”

“How?” Shawn finally looks at Jules, right in the eyes. “How does this change anything? He’s the same person, Jules. He-he’s controlling, and-and expects way too much, and is disappointed in me. That’s not different now just because you know he went overboard with stuff when I was a kid.”

Lassiter lets out a deep breath. He’d really… really been hoping this wouldn’t be the case. “How overboard, Spencer?”

Shawn looks at Lassie, and then clicks his tongue and looks away again. “Not in that way, man. He never hit me or anything.”

“So what did he do?”

“Why is this an interrogation?” Shawn stands up, pulling away from Jules’s outstretched hand. “This is stuff for me, and my dad to hash out, okay? Just me and him.”

“Did your mom know about this stuff?” Gus asks.

The mention of his mom seems to make Shawn shut down even more. “Now this is really over.” He walks away, and pauses for just one second to turn around and say, “Don’t- don’t go my dad about all this. I don’t want…”

“... Don’t want what, Shawn?” Jules’s voice is soft and careful.

Shawn doesn’t seem to be able to find the end of the thought. He just shakes his head and walks back out the door.

The three sit in silence for a minute. Jules has tears in her eyes. Gus looks almost shellshocked.

Lassiter stands up. “Alright, I’m officially taking lead on this case.” He looks down at his partner. “O’Hara, find out who in the precinct knew Henry well and still works there. We’ll interview anyone who he might’ve talked to his son about, see if we can dig up any leads there.”

“Whoa, Shawn just said he didn’t want his dad finding out we’re asking about all this, and we just learned he’s way worse than we thought,” Gus says, standing up too. “We can’t start poking around the precinct, because in case you forgot Lassie, he works there!”

“Part-time.”

“He’ll know something is up.”

“Please. I think I know how to run a discreet investigation, Guster.”

“Could you hide something like that from Shawn?”

“... Of course.”

“No, you couldn’t, and if you can’t hide it from Shawn it’s a safe bet that you can’t hide it from his dad.”

Jules stands up. “No, Carlton is right. None of us realized how these pieces fit together until we all talked about it with each other, right? If Shawn won’t… can’t, open up to us about it, the next best thing is getting as many witness statements as possible.”

“Why? It just feels like digging things up to dig them up at this point.”

“Because Henry is currently in charge of Spencer’s livelihood, Guster.”

“I know! He’s in charge of part of mine too!”

“Right.” Jules looks up at Lassiter. “And if we can prove to The Chief that Henry has a negative, unreliable bias against Shawn, we can lessen some of that control!”

“As much as I’d hate to see Spencer off the leash again, I’d hate to be helping enable an abuser even more,” Lassiter agrees.

“Abuser is a strong word.” Gus doesn’t look like he feels that sentence is 100% true. “He wasn’t all bad a lot of the time. I mean, he loosened up on the comic thing when we were older.”

“We know he cares, Gus,” Jules assures. “But, caring doesn’t mean he didn’t do something wrong. Really, really wrong.”

Gus swallows, and then nods. “I know.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They collect a good few statements over the next week.

One statement claims that Shawn would play poker with some of the officers when Henry brought him to the station- why Henry was bringing a seven year old to an active police station and then not keeping an eye on him was something that went unanswered- and that Henry was obviously upset when he discovered this. Another statement corroborated the story, and added that he caught sight of Henry taking all the money Shawn made from the games and shoving it into the police donation box.

One statement was from an elderly file sorter, who claimed that Shawn was sometimes sent down to grab files for his dad and used to complain to her that henry would only buy Shawn cop car toys, and no others. When she’d asked Shawn if he wanted to be a cop when he grew up, Shawn had reportedly said quote, “Something about not getting a choice.” Other statements claimed, when this was brought up, that Shawn seemed very excited by the idea of being a cop when he grew up- until his arrest.

One statement, given by someone Lassiter vaguely remembers being rookies with back in the day, lends more credibility to the recollections of the elderly woman. The statement claimed that when the rookie would go on ride-alongs with Henry or work under him, Henry would almost always complain about Shawn. Everything from Shawn having an interest that didn’t relate to being a cop, to Shawn ‘acting like a child’ when he would have been under twelve according to the timeline, to Shawn ‘not even trying’ during a specific incident where Henry claimed Shawn forged his signature to go on a field trip and quote “hesitated for a second with his pen or something- I remember it was something really minor, and Henry couldn’t stand it. I thought it was weird that he was teaching his son how to forge signatures and then expecting the kid to never use the skill, but it wasn’t really my place to say.”

By the end of the week, Jules is steaming and Shawn hasn’t come around the precinct at all. Gus keeps dropping by, digging up old journals of his own to use as cross-references when possible. Shawn is quiet with Jules at home, like he’s waiting for something big to happen and he’s worried he could trigger it early.

It makes Jules more upset at Henry, because now her boyfriend’s emotional immaturity seems a lot less like a natural childish nature and a lot more like having genuinely never been taught how to handle anything.

No, according to the information she and Lassiter have gathered, it looks like all Henry taught Shawn was that winning is everything, being the best is non-negotiable, and Shawn was born to be a cop and anything that didn’t align with that idea just… shouldn’t be there.

“Wow.” Lassiter tosses the latest statement onto his desk. “And I thought Henry didn’t discipline Spencer enough as a kid. Some of this stuff makes it sound like Spencer grew up in a boot camp.”

“He basically did,” Jules says bitterly, reading over one of Gus’s old notebooks. “Gus wasn’t even looking for evidence of it, and these journals are full of casual, offhand observations that look worse and worse the more we know. Listen to this one. ‘Today Shawn was in a bad mood, and when I asked him why he said his dad stole his mood ring after showing him to turn the box upside-down. I said that’s cheating, and Shawn said it can’t be if his dad said to do it.’ Who the hell steals a mood ring from a kid?”

“You’re getting caught on the small stuff again, O’Hara.”

“I know, I know. I just- now that we know some of the major things, even the small stuff is making me just unbelievably angry.”

“Yeah, it’s rough to read. At least you and I wanted to be cops.”

“Right? No wonder Shawn ended up a psychic detective, how do you just do something else after being raised so specifically like that? And no wonder he-he buys EasyBake Ovens and goofs off all the time, he had it so strict as a kid…”

“Mmmmm… let’s not excuse every antic, O’Hara. A lot fo it is still just him being a jackass.”

“I won’t get into this with you again, Carlton.”

“Good, I don’t want to get into it again either. … Heads up.”

Jules closes the notebook and tucks it into a desk drawer as swiftly and inconspicuously as possible, Lassie doing the same for his file. Henry walks past them, barley sparing a glance as he makes his way somewhere else.

Jules stares daggers at him so intensely that if dropped to the ground covered with enough puncture wounds to imitate Julias Caesar, Lassiter would think it was a mild scene all things considered.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s three weeks since Jules found the notebook when Shawn rolls over in bed, puts his arm around, and mumbles “I have an eidetic memory.”

Jules puts her book down and looks at Shawn with furrowed brows. “What?”

Shawn sighs and sits up properly. “I have an eidetic memory,” he says again, “And… I don’t like looking back, because I remember everything perfectly. Which means I usually remember what I felt perfectly too, and it usually wasn’t great feelings.” He can’t look her in the eyes this time, either, but instead of the tense, protective body language of before, he’s holding a pillow close to his chest and slightly burying his face into it, almost sagging around it.

Jules starts to rub his back. She knows how hard this kind of… difficult emotional discussion, is for him. Now she even knows why- suspects why, really, because not all of it is proven in full, but still she thinks she can cout is as knowing. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“About the memory?”

“Yeah. That sounds… really difficult to deal with, Shawn. Does Gus know?”

“Yeah, he knows. I think other than my dad, and… and you, he’s the only person who knows.”

“Shawn…”

“I just, I just want you to know… that I’m not asking you to drop it for no reason,” Shawn says, “Or-or because I don’t feel like it’s important. I know it is, I do. I just…”

“Don’t want to relive a lot of it,” Jules says softly. “... Shawn, does this mean you remember everything perfectly? All the time?”

“Eh… fifty-fifty. The ADHD gets in the way sometimes.”

“... But when it doesn’t?”

“I just try not to think about a lot of it.” Shawn moves again, to look her in the eyes, He takes a deep breath, and he looks a little pained. This kind of thing is painful for him, he’s so unsure how to navigate it. “I have to keep moving forward, Jules. It’d be so… so easy to just get stuck, forever, in all the stuff stored in my head. And I’m really, really trying to, I mean that. It’s difficult, and I’m not… always great at it, but I’m trying.”

“And you’re worried we’ll set you back?”

“No! No, I… I don’t know.” Shawn lets Jules pull him close to her chest and begin running her hand through his hair. “My dad and I don’t solve stuff, Jules. We just… argue over it. I’m getting tired of it.”

“... I understand.” She kisses the top of his head. “But I don’t like him being in charge of you when you’re a grown man anymore.”

“You think I do? … But it’s making him a lot happier than he’s been in a long time.”

“You should be happy too, Shawn.”

“Hey. Hey, I am happy.” He looks up into her eyes. “Look at me right now. I’m being cradled like a sweet little baby seal by the most beautiful, badass woman in the entire world. Of course I’m happy.”

Jules laughs a little and contorts a bit to kiss him on the mouth. “I’m glad you told me that, Shawn. And I promise, I won’t ask you to relive anything else for me.”

“... But you’re not going to stop investigating my dad, are you?”

“Did you stop with mine?”

“... Fair enough.” Shawn lays his head back down, and soon enough Jules hears soft snoring from him and mumbled phrases in his sleep.

…

An eidetic memory. Perfect recall.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Jules goes over everything they have so far knowing Shawn has a perfect memory, it makes her angry to such a degree that she thinks it might kill her. Not literally, but it feels strong enough.

She has some of Shawn’s old report cards, some statements she got from former teachers via social media contact, and some copies of pages of one of Gus’s old journals laid out in front of her, and she sees a pattern.

Shawn didn’t do good in school. His report cards are less than average, and are packed with notes about how he doesn’t pay attention, doesn’t seem to absorb any information, and doesn’t remember anything he’s taught. The statements from the teachers describe Shawn as hyperactive, passionate about everything but his schoolwork, and having difficulty with staying observant in class.

Gus’s old journals are full of the same, but also the opposite. Shawn didn’t pay attention in school, but sometimes he could pull something the teacher said from his memory word for word without even trying, and then a few entries later Gus would mention Shawn failed a test on that exact subject. Shawn got beat up because he told a bully he memorized the pattern of answers used in the math tests, but his dad told the teacher and let Shawn know he was doing it. And most of all, Gus writes about how freaky his friend’s ability to look at people and figure them out is. How Shawn notices almost everything almost all the time, and usually makes some dramatic conclusion that isn’t right, but he still notices things and Gus can’t figure out how Shawn fingers things out.

Detective training, and an eidetic memory, and psychic visions. Jules is now pretty sure that Shawn covers up some of his deductions using his visions- he’s known enough impossible information that they can’t possibly all be deductions in disguise, but when she thinks back there’s a few times where it’s obvious in hindsight he used his abilities to cover up the fact that he’s an incredible, highly-trained detective.

Maybe she’s jumping to a conclusion, but she finds herself thinking ‘Because Henry made him hate that he can do it so well,’ as she pieces it all together.

Gus’s journals lend a lot of credit to that theory. Shawn is smart, and Gus knows it, but Shawn acts dumb sometimes and Gus doesn’t understand why, and then Gus mentions that it’s weird that Henry kept Shawn up all night before to stakeout their porch and now Shawn is tired during Little League and Henry tells him to get his head in the game because Henry is the coach.

Henry is the coach, Henry is the chaperone on the field trip, Henry is their Scout Master- he’s in charge of every part of Shawn’s life except for school. And Maddie is rarely brought up, even when Gus writes about spending all day or night or even weekend at the Spencer house. Jules hasn’t seen Shawn’s Mom since Yang almost blew her up, and she just figured that Maddie wanted to stay out of Santa Barbara after that, understandably. She’s getting a different feeling about Maddie staying away now. It seems a lack of presence was her main impression in Shawn’s life, or at least, Shawn’s life through the lens of Child Gus.

So it was basically just Henry. And her heart aches for the thought of someone being stuck in a bad marriage, basically raising a kid alone, and that kid being as hyper and curious and chaotic as Shawn. But the ache is smothered in the sense of righteous rage when she reads other entries about things like a girl throwing a ball at Shawn and missing, and an ostrich choking on the ball, and Henry dragging Shawn away. The entry goes on to say that Shawn told Gus that Henry didn’t believe him when he said he didn’t do it, even after then-superior officer Captain Connors came in and tried to vouch for Shawn.

Henry always assumed the worst. Assumes, the worst, still.

Shawn tries so hard, sometimes, with his dad, and Jules is starting to realize that Henry doesn’t put the same effort in. He tries some, she knows it, she’s seen it, but she also sees him constantly berate, put down, and insult Shawn, publicly and privately.

Suddenly she remembers something from when Shawn went undercover on the dating show, something she’d been too upset over about Shawn being there at all to really take in in the moment.

“I’m sorry, this woman is way too good for my son. If it was me, I’d vote no.”

She doesn’t have Shawn’s memory, so without rewatching the clip she can’t be totally sure those are Henry’s exact words, but she’s certain that it’s the exact sentiment.

First of all, she takes a little offense to that for herself. But secondly and more strongly, she takes offense for Shawn. As she thinks about it she can remember the way Shawn tried to cover up the awkwardness in the clip, the way the girl on the show whispered “Is this a joke?” and the way it absolutely was not. The way Henry said that on TV, to Shawn’s face, with no hint of shame.

“O’Hara.” She looks up to see Lassiter holding a cup of coffee and a bagel for her. She takes them and Lassiter says, “There’s more steam coming out of your ears than there is that cup.”

“Sorry,” she sighs. “I just… I don’t know if I can control myself tomorrow when Henry comes back in. The more I dig into this, the more I want to just- go back in time and pick little Shawn up and take him somewhere better.”

“Well as much as we don’t like it, O’Hara, Spencer is who he is because he was raised the way he was raised.”

“I know. And I like, who Shawn is!”

“Inexplicably.”

“Carlton.”

“Mmm.”

“Anyway… I love Shawn, and who he is, all of him, but I still wish he could’ve been who he is without going through all of this. It’s not okay.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Lassiter sighs. “Look, O’Hara, put the case down for a while. At this point we’ve got enough to at least make The Chief doubt some of Henry’s intentions and judgements when it comes to Spencer and, well, that was the goal.”

“... Yeah. Yes, okay, I will… I will put this down for a few days.” Jules closes up the file and puts it back into her drawer. “Shawn is still less than happy I’m working on this, anyway. He understands why, but I know he wishes he didn’t.” He probably understands a lot of things he wishes he didn’t. Jules has had to grapple with the realization that she actually doesn’t know as much about how Shawn’s mind works as she thought she knew, and that it’s possible she’ll never know a lot of it. There’s more than just psychic visions to the mystery of his mind, and some of those mysteries are locked up with a key cast out of self-resentments and resentments of his dad.

God, she hopes she can keep up a poker face when Henry comes in.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her file is missing from her desk the next day, and so is Lassiter’s. They both know why.

They march over to Henry’s desk just as Gus comes in to collect a check, and all three end up standing over Henry as he openly and unashamedly reads through the Spencer Upbringing Case File. Gus takes a step back when he realizes that’s what’s happening, as does Lassiter.

But not because of Henry.

Jules looks murderous.

Henry purses his mouth in a frown and nods, raising up the file and then closing it and tossing it onto his desk in one smooth movement. “It’s comprehensive,” he says, like he’s grading a paper. “But it’s a bunch of biased bull.”

“Give them back.” Jule’s voice is ice-cold.

Henry shrugs, moving his head side to side for a second, still frowning, and then says, “Nah.” He takes the files, and drops them in the trash. “I think you owe me an explanation for why the head detective and his partner are investigating the way I raised my son. Why’d Shawn put you up to this?”

“He didn’t.”

Henry scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

Jules slams one hand onto Henry’s desk. The whole bullpen goes quiet.

“I was helping Shawn get something from your house, and I found a notebook,” she says.

“Oh, so, you found one of Shawn’s little projects where he exaggerated things to make himself look like a victim of the world?”

“I found the writings of a little kid who didn’t seem to realize at the time of writing that being locked in a hot car trunk and digging through broken glass for Easter Eggs wasn’t normal.”

Henry laughs, crossing his arms. “That’s what you have a problem with? It’s called training, detective. You went through it yourself.”

“When I was an adult, by my choice, and I sure as hell never had to dig through glass.”

“You’re really hung up on that.”

“Because it’s genuinely evil!”

Henry’s smug look melts into a scowl. “How dare you.”

“How dare I?! Do you understand how much all of this is still affecting Shawn, even right now?! He can barely talk about all of this!” “Oh, well, he sure seem capable of reminding me of it.”

“Because you did it! You’re the only other person in the entire world who understood what was done to him in the name of training because you did it!”

“Done to h- you’re overreacting, detective!”

“I, agree, what is going on out here?” Chief Vick hurries over to Henry’s desk from her own. “Detectives, there had better be a damn good reason-”

“There is, Chief.” Lassiter reaches into the trashcan and pulls out the files.

“Karen, Detective O’Hara has allowed her romantic entanglement with my son to-”

“Henry was borderline abusive during Shawn’s childhood,” Jules interrupts, facing her Chief. Chief Vick’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open, a disbelieving laugh escaping her even as she accepts the files and flips them open. “You understand what it is you’re alleging, O’Hara, and against who?”

“I do, Chief, and I think our case file speaks for itself.” All eyes are on them now. Jules doesn’t back down. “I’m well aware of my emotional ties to this case, but I assure you I’m not allowing it to cloud my judgment. If I was, I wouldn’t have used the word borderline to describe the conclusions I’ve come to.”

“Karen, this is ridiculous.”

But Chief Vick is focused on the files in her hands. Her eyes flick up to Henry. “Is it?” She looks over to Gus, who’s been watching with the quiet tension of a prey animal waiting to make a run for it. “Mister Guster, can you genuinely testify to the validity and accuracy of the claims in these files?”

“Oh, um, well, most of those are from my own journals.” Gus’s eyes flick between Henry and Jules. “I’d say that’s even more reliable than just plain memory.”

“It certainly is.” Chief Vick turns her eyes back to the file. “Henry, I think after I’m done going through these we’re going to have a chat about some of your current responsibilities and extent of authority over consultants.”

“Oh, come on, Karen!” Henry looks around at the entire precinct staring, and judging. “This is completely unfounded, and-and blown way out of propor-!”

Henry doesn’t finish the sentence because Juliet O’Hara punches him in the nose.

There’s gasps from everyone in the room. Jules’s fist is bloodied. Henry’s nose went CRUNCH! when her fist made contact.For a long moment it’s like the whole room has collectively stopped breathing.

“I don’t make unfounded accusations, Henry,” Jules breathes. “Especially not when I have been building a case for over a month, and have watched Shawn completely close off whenever I asked him about this.”

Henry holds his nose, looking at Jules with fear that Lassiter and Gus don’t think is nearly intense enough. “Juliet,” Henry pants, blood streaming out from between his fingers. “This is insane.”

“Quiet, Spencer.” Lassiter moves Jules a little farther away. Her fist is still raised. “I won’t tolerate you disrespecting my partner, especially not in the same way you do your son.”

“What?! You can’t believe all this too, Lassiter.”

“You know I’m not Shawn’s biggest fan, but if you think what O’Hara has done over the last month is anything less than the best damn investigation possible then I have to seriously reconsider some of our shared opinions of your son’s work.”

Gus glances at a box of tissues on Henry’s desk- and then subtly moves to knock them on the floor and kicks them away.

“Herny, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the precinct for a few days while this gets handled. O’Hara, I’m going to need to speak with you in my office.”

Jules lowers her fist, and nods. She knows she can’t just punch Henry and get away with it scot-free, and she accepts that.

No-one moves to help Henry. Not a single soul. He grumbles as he makes his way past Gus to grab a different box of tissues.

“It’s like he just sucks the respect out of people,” Henry grumbles.

CRACK!

No-one is more surprised than Gus when his fist slams into Henry’s jaw. Gus reels away immediately, shrinking and cradling his hand, as Henry goes down.

“Mister Guster!” Chief Vick moves forward to try and catch Henry.

“Uuuuh!” Guss whines, shaking his hand. “I-I mean, you don’t get to say that about Shawn! He asked us not to keep doing this! You gotta stop assuming the worst of him all the time!”

“When he earns it!” Henry barks out, then groans and spits. It’s mostly blood.

“You won’t let him earn it!” Jules is furious again. “How many killers does he have to catch for you to see that your son is an amazing man?!”

“It’s not about catching killers,” Henry says, spitting again. “It’s about growing up.”

“Says the grown man who can’t even tell his son ‘I love you’.”

“He doesn’t say it either.”

“That’s not helping your case, Spencer.” Lassiter has his eyes on Jules and Gus. “And considering I’m the only one on said case who hasn’t taken a shot at you yet, I’d say keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh, what do you know.” Henry spits a third time. The Chief looks about ready to punch him herself. “Father-son relationships are complicated, especially when the father wants what’s best for the son and the son just wants to throw everything away and get himself killed!”

“You wanted him to be a cop, Spencer, you didn’t exactly put him on a path to a peaceful and easy life.”

“I put him on the right path, and he never appreciated it, and that is what your case file should say!”

“You know what, Spencer?” Lassiter takes a step closer to the bleeding man. “I’ve put up with a lot of crap from both you and your son over the years, and you two are a lot more similar than you think. But one thing I can say that Shawn has over you is that he doesn’t mean it when he says stupid crap like that.”

“He looks up to you, you ass,” Jules adds. “And he is willing to put aside all of the things you say and do to him to have a good relationship with you. Do you understand how incredible that is? That you don’t even have to work to have him in your life? That he comes to you no matter how many times you tear into him for it?”

“He comes to me because he never listens when he needs to.” Henry’s face is starting to become very purple as the bruises set in. “I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but he needs, my help.”

“Exactly! And he feels like you’re reliable enough to give it to him, and you do! So why do you treat that as though it’s a fault? Do you have any idea what I would have given as a kid, and even now, to be able to just-just go up to my dad and say ‘I need help,’ and have him be there to help me? That means the world!”

“Not to Shawn.” Henry looks pained beyond just the broken nose and possible broken jaw. “The kid is too focused on himself.”

“You don’t know your son at all, then.” Jules turns and walks with The Chief to her office.

Gus shakes his head, grabs the check out of Henry’s paperwork pile, checks that it’s signed, and leaves.

“Oh, really? It’s up to me to take him to the hospital?” Lassiter looks around and then huffs. “Alright, Spencer. Don’t bleed on my seats, or my dashboard, or anything but yourself.”

“I’m not a bad father,” Henry says, still holding his nose. “I care about my son.”

“Yeah, and somehow Shawn knows that even though you act the way you do.” Lassie buckles Henry in for him so that the nose remains pinched. “But here’s the thing, Spencer. Your son is an arrogant, attention-hogging, impulsive, completely absurd person, and he didn’t just become like that out of a vacuum.”

“Yes he did. I did everything I could. I did everything right as much as possible.”

Lassiter sighs as he gets into the driver’s seat. “You seriously think that? You’d be okay with your grandkid being raised that way?”

“If they had Shawn’s potential, yes.”

“... Dammit.” Lassiter turns to Henry, and punches him in the gut. Henry coughs, and then chokes on his own blood, and then coughs again.

“What the hell?!” Henry gets out between hacks.

“O’Hara would’ve done it. I feel like I owed it to her. … And honestly, Spencer, after compiling that damn case, I’ve been wanting to do it for myself anyway. I already knew you were an overbearing perfectionist with a control issue, but you wishing your son was more like that than he is is even worse.”

“Shawn’s no perfectionist,” Henry wheezes.

“But he is overbearing with a control issue more often than not. Like I said inside, you two are a lot more similar than you think, and frankly I blame you for the parts of Shawn that go past mild annoyance and into infuriating obstacle.”

“I’d never just hand a collar over to save someone’s ego,” Henry coughs out.

“See, that’s where I wish Shawn wasn’t like you.”

“He’s handed you a collar twice.”

“What? He has not.”

And Henry must be a little delirious from the repeated blows, because Lassiter is pretty sure his next words of “See, this is why Shawn should’ve been head detective,” wouldn’t come out of him otherwise.

Lassiter grips the steering wheel tighter and makes a sharp turn into the hospital parking lot. “Well he’s not, and from the sound of things he never would’ve been anyway.”

“He could’ve been a perfect cop.”

“He’d have been miserable and you know it.”

“He’d be doing things right.”

“You’re hopeless.” Lassiter isn’t any gentler helping Henry out of the car than he was helping him in. “I’m not picking you back up when they’re done with you.”

“I’ll call Shawn.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.” And Shawn will come, and probably be mad on his dad’s behalf, and will definitely be mad at all three of the punchers, because he loves his dad enough to overlook years and years of mistreatment that most people would probably consider ground for cutting contact. “And Spencer? If you ever insult O’Hara’s work again, or say anything that gets her that angry, I will help her cover up your disappearance.”

“You don’t mean that,” Henry scoffs.

“Try me.” Lassiter gets back in his car. “And if I hear from her that you’re still badmouthing your son to his face, I’ll make you disappear myself.”

And then he drives away.

And Henry walks into the hospital alone.

122 notes · View notes

obsidiancreates · 10 months ago

Text

Why Bounce Around To The Same Damn Song (Part 1)

(Another Henry Revealed As Asshole fic but Real Psychic Shawn flavored this time)

“Whoa, dude, stop here.”

“What?! Shawn, the Arby’s closes in like, fifteen minutes!”

“What? Since when does Arby’s close in the middle of the day?”

“I don’t know!”

“Just- pull over, man. I’m getting a vibe.”

Gus pulls The Blueberry over, parking in front of a set of small, run-down shops under apartment buildings. He peers around Shawn’s head and reads the sign. Miss Ivana’s Nirvana. “A psychic shop?”

“Yeah.” Shawn tries to look through the curtains of the window. “I feel like I should go in there, man.”

“You’re already psychic, why would you need a reading?”

“I’m not… sure.” Shawn tilts his head, squinting. He’s still not great with figuring out what the feelings-only parts of his abilities are. They’re a lot more complicated than picking out details in a shaky vision, or catching hidden meanings in words, or even catching snippets of another person’s thoughts- which he’s also not great at, yet, but he’s good enough to know Jules is just being nice when she says Buzz’s wife’s homemade tapioca is good. He didn’t know someone could gag so intensely in their mind without it showing on their face.

The feelings-only are different. It’s like when his ADHD acts up and makes him forget why he entered a room, or where he put something he was just holding, or the thing Gus told him was really important to remember before talking to someone he probably shouldn’t be talking to. He knows something is just there, just out of reach of his comprehension, and it’s almost like a physical, tangible blockage that he could potentially push away but he just can’t quite get the right footing.

“Maybe she’s a fraud who needs exposing? You still can’t talk to ghosts, right?”

“Still not even sure if they exist, Gus. All those websites you send me say different things. Plus, I think if spirits really existed and could demand revenge on their behalf there’d be a lot less white people in the world.”

Gus nods. “Alright, but make it fast, or I’m leaving you here.”

“Fast. Got it.”

Shawn steps out of the car and opens the shop door. It’s dimly lit, cluttered, and there’s a section with big velvet curtains and a table covered in classic fortune-telling props. The air smells like incense and sage, making him cough a little.

“Welcome to my Nirvana,” a young blond woman says in a thick non-specific Eastern European accent, sweeping otherwise soundlessly out from behind a shelf cluttered with crystals. “You are looking for something.”

“Yeah. Your real accent.” Shawn angles his head at her with a disappointed look.

She straightens up, her incredibly numerous amounts of jewelry clanking together like she’s a windchime. “How’d you do that?”

He brings a hand up to his head. “I’m a psychic detective. You can take your pick on which of those told me the accent was fake.”

It was the psychic part.

“So… what? Are you scoping out the competition?” She crosses her arms. “Because I am not packing up shop. This is the first time I’ve made a steady living from this, you know.”

“Look, honestly I don’t know what I’m doing here either. I got a psychic vibe while driving by and now my buddy is about to abandon me so he can go get at least five meat-piled sandwiches for half off, and I can’t even blame him!” Shawn looks around. “It’s not like I don’t have crystals like these, or tried this uh… burning stuff.”

“Incense.” Ivana raises an eyebrow. “What, are you new to being psychic?”

“No! … Maybe. Are you?”

“I’ve had the gift as long as I can remember.” She sits down at the table. “Now are you gonna buy anything, or are you just going to stand there making my shop smell like Axe deodorant?”

“For your information, it’s Axe body spray. And you call yourself psychic.” He scoffs. But that twists something in his gut, his voicing doubt. It feels… bad.

“You’re the one using his hand to convince me you can hear the spirits.”

“So there are spirits.”

“Duh? Did you come in here just to learn how to fake it better?”

“Do you think I’m faking?”

“Maybe.”

“No you don’t.”

“If I think you’re real then you should know I am too.”

“... Fair.” Shawn looks out the door to see Gus literally pulling away. “Wh- Gus!”

“I saw that coming.”

“And you didn’t warn me, wh- I was looking forward to those sandwiches! Man… so much for helping a fellow psychic out.”

“You’re like, ten years older than me. You should’ve been able to see it.”

“Okay first of all, there’s no way I’m ten years older than you. Second of all, I… am working on the future-seeing thing, still.”

Ivana leans forward, resting her elbows heavily on her table. “You have a very bright presence, for being so annoying and childish.”

“Thank you. It’s because my hair is a blessing.”

“No… it’s because you carry the gratitude of many.” Her eyes trail over Shawn, unfocused and glassy. “Why’re you here?”

Shawn steps back. That look is really unnerving. He hopes he doesn’t look like that when he’s analyzing people. “Because my partner just drove off without me, and I don’t want to walk anywhere.”

Ivana rolls her eyes. “Come here. I’m going to do a tarot reading for you.”

“Uhhh, no. No, I don’t do that stuff.”

“You’re a psychic who doesn’t do tarot?”

“No, I do not! Or crystal balls, unless I think the client will pay extra for that. Then I have five.”

“Sit down and pick a card.” She says it so forcefully that Shawn just obeys- because a psychic pull told him too, and definitely not because he was intimidated by for a second. Not at all. He goes to pick one- and finds himself picking three, leaving them face-down, knowing how this is meant to go even though he’s never done this before.

She flips the one on Shawn’s left over first. “Do you know the meanings?”

Shawn actually thinks he does. He doesn’t want to. “Uh, no.”

“So that’s why you’re here. You’re denying something that the spirits wish you weren’t. This is The Emperor, reversed. Someone in authority, abusing that authority.”

“No, I don’t think so. The Chief is actually very lenient with us.” He knows it’s not talking about The Chief. Or Lassie. Or even the Psych office landlord who keeps trying to raise their rent before Shawn reminds him that more than half his properties aren’t up to code and Shawn can prove it if he has to.

“This card is showing us something from the past, something already done. What was. The next to are what to do, and what to avoid.” Ivana flips over the middle card. “The Three of Cups.”

“That one’s not so bad.” He sees images of him and Gus getting tacos together, him bringing Jules a smoothie, him breaking into Lassie’s house to restock the man’s peanut butter because he always forgets to and Shawn wants a reliable store of PB in every house he regularly infiltrates, dammit. “It’s uh, quality time, right? With people I care about.”

It doesn’t escape his notice that someone is missing from those visions.

“Now I’m starting to believe you.” Ivana flips the last one over. “The Six of Swords, reversed.”

Shawn laughs, even as something twists in his gut and squeezes in his chest. “That one’s a mistake.”

“It’s advice. You’re being warned not to leave something big in your life unresolved.”

“Yeah, I got that. But uh, it’d sort of ruin… everything, so I think I’m going to leave now.” He gets up. “And I’m-I’m sure yours and the… spirits, intentions are good, but there’s no way in hell I’m following that advice.”

Ivana looks at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“For once, yes.” Shawn turns, sticking his hands in his pockets and walking to the door. He freezes just before opening it, sucking in a sharp breath as his hands fly to his head.

Gus is ten years old, listening to Shawn complain about something Henry did. Gus is nodding, listening, but Shawn hears him think ‘There’s no way it’s that bad.’

Mrs. Guster stands in the doorway, talking to Henry, while five-year-old Shawn and Gus play in the living room. “Now I’ve heard around town about your… unusual way of raising your son, and I want your word right now that you’ll leave mine out of that sort of thing, because if my Burton comes home and tells me that you did anything he says Shawn talks about, I won’t be bringing him around here again.”

More recent, a case- their thirteen year high school reunion. Gus looks at Shawn and says “That’s easy for you to say, Shawn. No-one had any expectations you would amount to greatness.”

Shawn’s whole body feels tingly, and he has to shake himself to get feeling back into his limbs. Ivana is standing next to him, wide-eyed. “What was that?”

“Um.” Shawn looks down at his hands to make sure he’s here, really here. “I don’t-”

“Was that a vision? I’ve never had one that strong.”

“Really? I get those all the time.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah, a little.” Shawn shakes himself again. “Not totally.”

“I told you, you’re being warned. Something is blocking you from contacting the spirits who want to speak to you, I can feel it. It’s something emotional, and they’re begging you to resolve it.”

“I thought you said you don’t get strong visions.”

“I’m better at mind-reading and tarot, it’s true. But-” She moves to touch him, and Shawn pulls away. “But I can feel a very strong presence around you while standing this close. Hovering, worrying, desperate.”

“Great. That’s-that’s exactly what I want. Another looming presence in my life pushing me to do stuff.” Shawn huffs. “Awfully hypocritical of them. Can you just, tell me how to avoid that kind of thing happening to me again?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know? You’re clearly a different kind of psychic than I am.”

“What, are we dogs? There’s different breeds?”

“It’s time to leave my shop.”

She shoves him out the door, literally, just as Gus pulls back up. Shawn takes a moment to compose himself, looking anywhere but The Blueberry, before getting in- or trying to.

“Dude, you didn’t leave any room for me to sit down.”

“There’s room right there.”

“I’m not some twig anymore, man, I can’t fit in a seat literally piled with sandwiches.”

“You’re the one who decided to abandon me for a talk with a fraud.”

“She’s not a fraud, Gus.” Shawn tosses all the sandwiches into the backseat, despite Gus’s whine of protest. “She’s the real deal.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I could feel it, which was super freaky. At one point I just mentioned she might be a fraud and it felt like that time I ate those expired mini-tacos from your freezer.”

“Eugh!”

“Point is… apparently I was drawn in there because spirits are real, and… I can’t talk to them. Yet.”

“So… what? They lead you somewhere you could get advice?”

“Sort of. She can’t talk directly either, but she… gave me a tarot reading.”

“I told you we needed to invest in a set.”

“Not until we find one with either all of the Thundercats on each card, or themed around Tears for Fears songs.”

“You can commission custom sets from local artists, Shawn.”

“Really? … Sounds expensive.”

“What’d your reading say, Shawn?”

“Right. That.” Shawn shifts in his seat as Gus pulls away. “I uh… so, weird part first, knew what the cards meant just by looking at them.”

“Which makes sense since you’re psychic.”

“Yeah, yeah. And uh… they were kinda about… my dad.”

Gus waits for Shawn to go on. Shawn licks his lips first, suddenly feeling very, very trapped.

“... Shawn?” Gus glances over, concern starting to seep into his expression. “What’d they say about your dad? … Is he dying?”

“No, no. Nothing that bad.” So, so bad. Henry just- gone. Forever. Shawn can’t even imagine it, and he doesn’t want to imagine it, for all he might fight with his dad. “But uh… Gus, how-how much do you remember, about the uh… training, I did, growing up?”

“What?”

“The cop stuff he made me do.”

“I don’t know. I know I thought it was kinda intense.”

“Yeah, but… what specifically? Do you remember?”

“Well… I remember the stuff when we were scouts, with the rocket and all that.”

“Right.”

“And him using a lot of stories about him and his partners to give us lessons.”

“Yeah.”

“And I guess I remember you talking a lot about him making you earn desserts and stuff.”

“... Yeah.” Shawn leans his head back against the headrest of the seat. “Do you remember the case at our reunion?”

“Of course I remember it, it almost ruined all my hard work!”

“Remember going through the yearbooks?”

“Shawn, I know you’re stalling by trying to make me piece everything together myself. What does this have to do with your dad?”

Shawn sighs, looking out the window and pressing the top of his tongue to the center of his top lip before saying, “You said no-one had any expectations of greatness for me growing up.”

“I did? … I did.” Gus’s concern melts into guilt. “But your dad did, didn’t he? I’m sorry, Shawn, in the moment I just totally forgot.”

“It’s alright, man, I-I didn’t say anything to correct you or anything. … But I guess I’m… trying to get a read on how much I need to tell you, to… I don’t know, unclog my psychic senses or whatever.”

“What?”

“... I’m supposed to open up about, Gus. The spirits want me to tell you, and Jules, and even Lassie about all the stuff from when I was a kid.”

“Wow. … Isn’t that kinda-”

“My personal hell? Yes, it is.” Shawn thumps his head against the window and watches the sidewalks, counting hats. “Which they know, apparently. So I don’t know why they’re asking me to do that. I’m kind of doing just fine without talking to any spirits, anyway.”

But you could be doing better. He’s not sure if the thought is some psychic intuition or just him knowing the truth, and frankly he doesn’t care. It is true. It’s probably always true. It’s a thought that, nine times out of ten, comes into his mind alongside the frowning image of an old man with a rough voice and disappointment just dripping from the words.

“Shawn, did your dad…”

He doesn’t need to be psychic to know where Gus’s train of thought is going. “No, not like that. He never hit me. At most he-he handled me a little rough while booking me for the car thing. But that’s why I don’t wanna do this, man, I just- I know everyone will make it a big thing and it’s… it’s not not a big thing, but it’s a big thing for me, you know? It’s not really anybody’s else's business.”

Even though the spirits disagree.

“... You should probably take some time to think about how you wanna do this, then.” Gus glances over again, Shawn can see it in the reflection in the window. “I know this kind of thing isn’t easy for you.”

“That’s an understatement,” Shawn says with a huffed and bitter chuckle. God, he hates this. These ugly, nasty feelings that bubble up whenever he thinks about it. He drowned in these feelings for years and it was the worst time in his life, and because he couldn’t get his head above the water he started trying to push the water itself below and now it just sits there waiting for him to stop pushing it-

He has to suck in a breath as the feeling of actual water in his lungs passes over him, and he reaches to slap Gus’s hands without looking away from the window. “Stop the car!”

“Wha-”

“I totally just got a vibe, man, I think someone drowned around here, recently!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’re avoiding it.”

Shawn groans, tossing a crumpled paper ball at the trash can without looking. It goes right in. “Gus-”

“It’s been a month, Shawn. I know I said to take some time and think about how you’ll do it, but I know you and I know when you go from taking time to putting something off.”

“Gus, don’t be your coffee mug handle that broke when I picked it up.”

“Shawn, I’m serious. You basically got spiritually kidnapped into a creepy tarot reading specifically because you needed to talk about it, and now you’re not talking about it!”

“I have dinner with my dad in two days, Gus. I don’t really want to churn up all that stuff before I have to go help him prepare a fish or something again, I hate that enough.”

“So cancel.”

“Already tried- stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“I can totally read your mind right now, Gus, it’s like you’re literally shouting at me. Every time I talk about my dad now all your alarm bells go off, and that’s exactly what I don’t want!”

“Since when are you so protective of how people think of him?!”

“I don’t know! I just- I don’t want the three of you going around thinking he’s a monster or something all the time! Even if he kinda is. Man, you know I’m not good at figuring these kinds of complicated feelings out! Stop asking me to!”

“Not until we make some progress.”

“... Fine. Fine, I will… talk to everyone, as a group, here in the office, next week. Happy?”

“As I can be in the situation.”

“It’s not a situation.”

“Yes it is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“I can do this all day, Shawn.”

“Well that is a complete waste of your time, and especially of mine!”

“Yeah, well, suck it.”

“You suck it!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jules and Lassiter are cleaning up their desks when they both get a text at the same time.

Just had a major psychic feeling, guys, come by the office ASAP. Bring good snacks. <3

“Aw.” Jules smiles as she tucks her phone into her pocket. “Carlton, did you also get-”

“Yeah, I got it.” Lassiter sighs and swings his jacket on. “I’m not stopping for any snacks.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn is sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together resting against his lips, one leg shaking up and down and making a fast taptaptaptaptap sound against the floor as he waits. Gus sits next to him on the couch, and gives Shawn a pat on the shoulder.

“It’s going to be good for you in the long run,” Gus says for the millionth time that day.

“Man, you know I’d rather have things be good for me in the short run.”

They hear the door open, and both look up as Jules and Lassiter enter the office. Jules looks immediately concerned, while Lassiter looks more annoyed than anything.

“Shawn? What’s wrong, you look nervous. Is this is about a case?”

“Not uh, not quite.” Shawn gestures for Jules and Lassiter to sit in the armchairs set up across from the couch. They do, with Lassiter rolling his eyes as he sits. Shawn is kind of grateful for the irritation- it’s more comfortable than the way Gus and Jules are looking at him. More familiar.

“What is this about, Spencer?”

“Well, I uh…” Shawn opens his mouth to continue, but he just can’t. He just… can’t.

Gus, as always, is there to put together the missing pieces and fill in the gaps. “Shawn recently had a… metaphysical revelation,” Gus says. “He’s been dabbling in new ways to hone his abilities, and he was given the advice to unblock some parts of his mind by sharing some things.”

Shawn points at Gus to confirm it.

“What, like group therapy? This is ridiculous.”

“Believe me Lassie, I’m not happy about it either.” Shawn laughs, hollow, and his leg starts shaking faster. “But uh, every time I think about not doing this, preferably ever, I get a real kick in the ass by the spirits.” Mostly visions of people defending his dad, or his dad making all those claims about how he’s not responsible for why Shawn is the way he is, and god does the reoccuring vision of his dad claiming “A good cop trusts his gut, his instincts,” make Shawn just… mad.

“Shawn… what is this about?” Jules reaches out and puts a hand on his leg, stilling it. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Maybe. … I-I don’t…” Shawn takes a deep breath. “So it’s uh… about my dad.”

Lassiter scoffs.

“You know, with him… getting involved in cases as much as he does, and uh… Gus, I-I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. I believe in you.”

“Spit it out, Spencer, after a shift I want to go home, not hang out in a fire hazard.”

“The spirits want me to tell you guys about my dad and how he raised me,” Shawn forces out. “Apparently keeping it to myself is ‘bad for me’ or something. And I uh… I don’t really know where to begin, so just… bear with me here.”

Lassiter eyes Shawn suspiciously. “Raised you how?”

“... I guess I’ll start with us, with this.” Shawn lets out a deep breath. “Lassie, you remember when my mom did your psych eval?”

“Unfortunately.”

“She told you she has an eidetic, tonal, memory.”

“How did you kn-”

“My dad, has an eidetic visual memory. I… have both.” Shawn pulls his hands apart and puts his hands to his temples and plasters on a grin that’s probably the least convincing fake smile he’s ever given. “And he knew it, real early on, before I can even remember.”

Jules gasps softly. “Oh, Shawn, but the things we see on the job-”

“It’s not that bad,” he says quickly. “Trust me Jules, I’m fine with all that. But uh, on top of that, when I was really young my mom diagnosed me as also being hyperobservant.”

Lassiter stands up and points to Shawn. “Aha! That’s it! I knew it, I knew you had some secret-”

“Lassie, sit down, I’m also genuinely psychic.”

“Yeah, right-”

“You’re excited to have caught me but you’re also thinking about how many arrests will be overturned or reexamined if you turn me in. You went to a bar on Saturday and ran into someone you liked in highschool, but h- uh, she-” Shawn glances at Jules and squints for a second, then nods. She knows, Lassie told her, good for him. “He, was already married so you went back home and looked into getting a dog for the rest of the night.”

That wipes the triumph off Lassiter’s face, and gets his ass back in the chair.

Shawn rides the high of that for just a moment before Gus clears his throat and Shawn remembers why they’re all here. He looks back down at his knees. “So uh… yes, I have a lot going on up here is what I’m trying to say.” He gestures at his head, waving his hand in a circle around his skull. “And pretty much from birth my dad figured, hey, I’ll train the kid to be the ultimate detective. The job was everything to him, and uh… he made sure it was everything to me, too.”

“That’s a pretty heavy expectation for a kid to carry,” Jules says in sympathy. “Especially with your dad having such a high-standing reputation.”

“No kidding,” Shawn laughs the same empty laugh. “So a uh… a lot, oh my childhood, was training. Stuff like uh… like even when Gus and I would play hide-and-seek, you know? He’d turn it into a lesson about how to keep a perp from seeing or hearing me if I was sneaking up on them, or-or blindfolding me, and telling me to figure out what he was doing around me just by the sounds, stuff like that.”

“Sounds fun to me,” Lassiter says.

“It was, usually. And I did really, really want to be a cop, just like him, but it was still pretty…” Shawn claps his hands back together and purses his lips, searching for the words, the feeling. “Pretty overkill, a lot of times. I mean, come on, teaching me to-to forge stuff in case I ever went undercover? I was six. I didn’t even know that kind of thing wasn’t normal until I started going over to Gus’s house. And then I started wanting to explore more things, and… started kind of… thinking about how Gus and my lives were different…”

Shawn takes another deep breath. “Like, his parents didn’t bury his Easter eggs underground and leave broken glass and a tarp over it and expect him to dig them up on his own.”

Lassiter sits up straighter, and Jules pales. Gus lets out a soft “Oh my god.”

Shawn grips his hands together. He hates this, he hates it, he doesn’t want them look at him like this, he doesn’t want them to know about this-

“Spencer, that’s a serious allegation of mistreatment and child endangerment,” Lassiter warns.

“I’m not- this isn’t a case, Lassie. I’m not trying to get my dad in trouble, and certainly not trying to get him arrested, alright? I’m just… trying to get a few things off my chest, out into the open.” Shawn clears his throat. “So, yeah. At Gus’s house he didn’t have to do that, or-or get locked in a car trunk in the afternoon to learn how to kick out a taillight, or have to hear about kids spatter brains on driveways when he brought a comic book home.”

Jules makes a sound like she might vomit. “And he knew you’d always remember all of that, perfectly?”

“... Yeah. And it uh… didn’t make me love my whole… deal.” Shawn flicks a hand up at his head again. “He never believed in psychics, so that was fine, but the other stuff… I dunno. I guess he thought it meant I just shouldn’t have been a kid or something, but I know he still thinks of me as a kid anyway.”

“Can’t always blame him.” But Lassiter’s words are as hollow as Shawn’s previous laughs, an understanding dawning in his eyes. “So he spent your life training you to be a cop, and never let you consider anything else.”

Shawn nods. “Got upset if I even mentioned it. Ever. But he also wouldn’t let me do stuff like take karate, which is weird, because I think a cop who knows martial arts seems super dope but I guess he thought a gun would be enough.”

“Did he train you in firearms too?”

“Oh, yeah. And it turns out being psychic gives you crazy good long-distance vision, which is neat, so I got really good really fast. He always freaked out when he thought I was in danger, still does, but he wanted me to be in the middle of shootouts someday at the same time. He’d have me run away from him in the middle of the woods to teach me avoidance tactics, and then lecture me for doing the same thing because I didn’t want to kill fish with him.”

Jules and Lassiter share a look, and both lean forward at the same time.

“That wasn’t okay, Shawn. Any of it,” Jules says firmly. “And if talking about this is helping you clear something up with your powers, we’ll listen to every example you’ve got.”

Shawn leans away from them a bit, mouth parting, and looks over at Gus.

Gus is crying. Not in the full-face-scrunch whistling tea kettle way he usually does. Just quiet, horrified tears over all the things he just missed during their shared childhood.

“Hey, stop that.” Shawn shakes Gus by the shoulder. “Don’t you dare feel guilty, Gus.”

“I can’t help it,” Gus sniffles. Jules reaches behind her for Gus’s desk and passes some tissues over. “Thank you.”

“I’m not- I’m not looking for guilt or pity.” Shawn looks each one of them in the eyes. “I’m not looking for anything, just for the spirits to leave me alone about this, okay?”

“We understand,” Jules assures. “Right, Carlton?”

“Right.” Lassiter is looking at Shawn in a way Shawn isn’t used to. He tries to reach out, just a little, to get a glimpse of what Lassie is actually thinking about him right now. It’s like trying to reach for something in a dream, where your arms don’t really exist and neither does what you’re trying to grab, and focusing too hard wakes you up before you can grab it but focusing too little sweeps you back into nonsense. Shawn can’t quite get a grip.

Shawn sniffs a little, and then nods, and then nods again harder to make his whole body move with the motion. “So uh… just, telling you guys everything, then? Because that could take a while, with the whole… memory, thing.”

“As much as you need to tell us. No more, no less.” Jules offers him her hand to hold. “And Shawn, I just want to say that I’m really, really honored that you came to us with this. That you’re trusting us, even though this is hard for you.”

“Of course, I trust you guys. I’d trust you both with my life, literally. If we got body-swapped I’d be completely relaxed knowing you’re probably treating it even better than I do.”

“That’s not really a high bar, Spencer.”

“Even my hair? It’s a high bar to trust you with styling my hair, Lassie.”

Lassiter considers this, and then nods in agreement.

Shawn takes one more second, and then looks up fully. “Time to get into the details, I guess.”

And he does.

And it turns out to be a long, long night.

Everyone wishes Lassie had stopped for snacks.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Shawn wakes up the next morning, groggy and sleep deprived and feeling wrung-out like a hand towel in an industrial kitchen, he hears his grandpa’s voice.

“I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Henry Spencer walks into the SBPD the next morning, Juliet O’Hara elbows him hard in the gut as she walks by, and while Henry is still leaning against the front desk corner catching his breath Carlton Lassiter walks up and yanks him away from the desk to throw him out the door.

“What the hell-!”

“For your sake, we better not see you around this station for at least a week. Any sooner and I can’t guarantee you leaving it without O’Hara pumping you full of lead.”

“Wh-”

“I mean it, Henry. Stay out. Or else.” Henry learns what Or else entails a week later when he follows Shawn into the station and hell breaks loose.

#psych #psychusa #psych usa #psych 2006 #child abuse mention #psychfic #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic #real psychic shawn spencer

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