Chapter Text
1988
"...Shawn, I'm going to give you a single chance to tell me why Mr. Heralds down the street called me at work today."
Shawn shoved the brand new comic book he'd bought that afternoon under his school books and turned slowly in his desk chair, "Doesn't this count as entrapment? Since I'm trapped in my room? And you already know why he called?"
Henry crossed his arms and tipped his head in a scowl, badge flashing in the afternoon light, "One chance, Shawn."
The younger Spencer stood up, crossing his arms and trying to match the intensity of his father's much-practiced stonewall face: "Mr. Tattleface Heralds exiles Colonel Fluffers to the back yard every time his wife leaves town! For a whole week! I have my doubts that he even feeds him while he's stranded out there. And it's elder abuse -- the colonel's older than I am. That's pretty much 150 years old in dog years -- or more! You can't do that to an old man -- it's not right!"
"Neither is blackmail, Shawn," Henry said as he uncrossed his arms, walked into the room and sat down on Shawn's bed. He leaned his elbows on his knees and looked up at his son, "What were you thinking?"
Shawn's face twisted a bit and he sat heavily in the chair, spinning it to face his dad, slouching down, "I was thinking of telling Mrs. Heralds -- but then Mr. Heralds said she wouldn't believe me, I was just 'a dumb kid with too much time on my hands'... So, I took pictures."
"So that's what happened to my last roll of film... I was saving that for the fishing opener, Shawn."
"Dad! He's not just an abuser of old dogs -- he's a lying liar-face! Captian Fluffers can't help the fact that he smells weird and pees sometimes when he doesn't mean to!" The office chair rolled back into the desk, knocking some books and papers down -- as well as exposing the shiny stack of brand-new comic books.
Henry nodded toward them: "How long have you been blackmailing him, Shawn?"
"Not that long. Just a couple weeks. Maybe like... four months. ...But -- he deserved it!"
His father reached out and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, locking their eyes together, his voice not unkind, "Listen Shawn, you're absolutely correct that it's not right for Mr. Heralds to lie to his wife--"
"Or to treat an old dog that way!" Shawn interjected.
Henry closed his eyes and nodded in a rare show of patience, then squeezed his son's shoulder, "Or to do that, either, but." He paused until Shawn looked him in the eye: "Just because someone's doing something wrong doesn't make it okay to do something wrong to them. You understand?"
Present Day
"My dad would be really disappointed in you right now," Shawn mumbled, wiping a spot of blood off the corner of his mouth as his ears rang.
"What was that?" the tall, blonde man growled as he pulled the younger man to his feet by the front of his shirt, propping him up against the brick wall near the back door of the Psych building.
Shawn blinked hard until his eyes focused and then smiled, the spit between his teeth stained pinkish: "Not only are you blackmailing someone, but you're doing it for something that isn't even wrong. You'd think a criminal would know how this kinda thing is supposed ta' wor-- ough!" Shawn couldn't help himself as he leaned most of his weight forward into the other man; the third punch to his stomach in as many minutes had finally knocked the air out of him. He took the moment of gasping to think as hard as he could about what he could say, if anything, that would get he -- and ultimately, Lassiter -- out of this pickle.
"Now listen, you little fucker, I have multiple copies of these photos and it doesn't even matter that your little tryst didn't work out -- just like it won't matter what Carl tries to say if they end up all over his boss' mailbox, you get me?"
Shawn leaned back against the wall, pressing his skull against the cool brick and taking in a few lungfuls of sweet, sweet ocean-side air: "...You're saying you never attempted a little stakeout nookie with Lassie? Come on, now, a good looking guy like you must've-- ah!" Spencer cringed back, throwing an arm up to guard his face as Harkin wound up again, "Okay! Alright. I get it, I've got it, I'm good. ...But you should know that I can only pay you in quarters and dryer lint, though, my piggie bank has been a lot more like a Twiggy bank late--"
Did the streetlight just change colors? Oh -- lookit that -- the ground! So fast, this ground is very speedy Gonzales...
"Wake up, you unbelievable idiot--"
Shawn put his hands up again, spitting the not-delicious mix of saliva and blood out of his mouth before saying: "Shawn Spencer, reporting for getting-his-ass-kicked duty, sir!"
Harkin leaned over him, wiping his hand off on Shawn's shirt before standing up and squaring his shoulders, "I expect you to show up at that address tomorrow, alone. Got it?"
Shawn nodded, keeping himself close to the ground and letting his mind wander to the ants creeping alongside the back door. Oh man, Gus is gonna be a fussyface if those little dudes get into the office... By the time the back of his mind registered the man's footsteps disappear around the corner, Shawn was pretty sure the Jamba Juice down the street had closed for the night.
"The hits just keep comin'," he sighed melodramatically to the empty back lot; it sounded weak, even to Shawn and he shook his head before reaching out to his motorcycle helmet the crazy man had knocked out of his hand not even fifteen minutes ago. He sat up, wiping the blood off his mouth, still dazed that Lassie had lied to him about liking men, "I mean, jeezy creezy, he could've just said it was me."
Dragging himself up the wall, Shawn spit one more time and headed toward his bike, deciding on a shower, some ibuprofen and formulating a plan while taking a very long nap.