Hey all! This is a bit of a prequel to the Barton/O'Brien family stories because Shawn Spencer is in them, so if you want to know how that works, you might as well read this headcanon me and Irish believe. Thanks and we hope you enjoy!

What Happened in Budapest

By Blues, AKA BlackBandit111

"Only you could be so stupid, Spencer," Lassiter growled even as he removed his tie and pressed it to the back of Shawn's bleeding head. Spencer's bleary eyes opened to gaze at the detective with uneven, unsteady pupils, and Lassiter snarled out a curse that he didn't quite feel. It wasn't all Shawn's fault, really, but he was an easy scapegoat for Lassiter's burning, righteous anger. Their team had split up and Lassiter had told Spencer and Guster to specifically stay in the car, where they'd be if not safe, out of trouble, and therefore less of a nuisance to everyone.

But no.

Instead Spencer, in all of his half-wit attention seeking glory, had followed Lassiter of all people around the back of the abandoned building, up the flight of stairs to the back door, through that and along the second floor before they'd found their perp (one Jeremy Renolds, guilty of three premeditated murders; thirteen stab wounds, personal, hate-crime, overkill) and the only thing Carlton had as a warning was the very surprised and Spencer-esque yell of "Lassie!" and the thump-thump-thump-thump of a body flailing down stairs.

Turning and firing three shots, each in the chest of (who he recognized to be) Renolds, he watched in barely concealed horror as Spencer's body disappeared down the two flights of stairs that they'd climbed to get to the back door, his body twisting head over heels, splaying out on the ground when he'd reached the bottom. He took two seconds to slap some cuffs onto Renolds' wrists and radio that he'd caught him (his own voice a frantic pitch before he'd cleared his throat) and then he was dashing down the same stairs, sickened by the growing puddle of blood near Spencer's head.

For all of his annoying antics Lassiter had grown... not fond, but used to Spencer's ridiculous way of solving crimes, and despite all the times he'd said so Carlton didn't actually want him dead. He looked it now, though- Lassiter could see his face, and it was slack in unconsciousness and whiter than Lassiter had ever seen it, blood gushing- gushing- from the cut on the crown of his head to run in rivulets through Spencer's hair and down his cheeks.

His stomach tossing uneasily, Lassiter barked, "Spencer! Up!" But he didn't move, didn't blink or flinch or shift, just laid motionless where he'd landed.

Grabbing Spencer and gently turning him over onto his back, he shook Spencer's shoulder lightly, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd held when Spencer gave a groan and his brows scrunched together. His eyes cracked open and his uneven hazel orbs drifted lazily across Lassie's face, like he wasn't looking at him so much as through him, and he gave another little groan, muttering as his hand came to clutch at his forehead, "Aw man...Tash is gonna gimme hell for being beat by freakin' stairs…"

Lassiter rolled his eyes and helped Spencer sit up, propping him against the staircase and shrugging off his jacket and tie. Ignoring the crackle from his radio as he bunched and wrapped the tie around Spencer's head he asked, "How do you feel?" Because even if he was short tempered he wasn't unsympathetic, and head wounds were a bitch.

Shawn blinked heavily and shook his head slightly, like he was trying to clear his thoughts. "I- uh," he said, his brows furrowing again, "How'd I get here again?"

Lassiter's concern spiked. "You don't remember?"

Shawn hissed as he prodded the back of his head, and Lassiter made an annoyed sound as he grabbed Spencer's wrist, wrenching it down to his lap and swallowing his guilt at the wince that crossed the younger man's face. "Listen to me, okay?" He said, making a conscious effort to sound softer than he usually did. "Okay? You're confused. You've just fallen down the stairs because you were an idiot and you caught your head on the railing, after you specifically disobeyed me and endangered the whole investigation."

And God forgive him because Spencer looked upset. "I'm-"

Lassiter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's okay," he said again; "I caught Renolds and he's been arrested, and he won't kill anyone el- for God's sakes Spencer, sit still!" Shawn stopped moving, and Lassiter took a deep breath. "Just sit still until the ambulance shows up, all right?"

Then, remembering what he wanted to do in the first place, he radioed Juliet.

"Lassiter?" She sounded worried, and Lassiter winced. So many things had gone wrong in such little time. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, but Spencer's concussed and bleeding and lost consciousness for a moment. He's up and talking, but he's having trouble remembering certain things and confused. Radio an ambulance for me; I've gotta keep the idiot in check before he hurts him- Spencer, I said sit still!"

Shawn stopped moving again and Lassiter continued. "I've gotta keep the damn idiot out of trouble until it arrives, and- Spencer, don't touch it, for God's sakes!"

Juliet seemed to be done listening because she interrupted, "Okay, I'll radio. When I'm done wrapping things up out front I'm come to you. Where are you? Out back, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, see you soon."

Lassiter rubbed a hand over his face, pursing his lips as he watched Shawn glance around. "Lassie?" He exclaimed, eyes wide, "where are we?"

Lassiter cursed under his breath. "Nevermind," he said. "You've fallen down some stairs and have a concussion. Ambulance is coming."

Shawn's nose scrunched. "This isn't...there weren't any...are we still in Budapest?"

Lassiter's brows shot up. "Budapest? What are you talking about?"

Shawn frowned, rubbing his forehead. "Y'know, Budapest. Oh God, Tasha's going to have a fit when she realizes I got beat by some stairs…" Glancing behind him, he grimaced. "And she's even pushed me down way more…"

"Spencer?! What are you talking about?!" Lassiter was torn between worry and irritation. He wasn't sure if Spencer was more confused than he'd originally thought or if he was being his aggravating, muddling self, and it set him on edge.

"Y'know, Budapest," he said with a lazy grin. "Jesus Lassie, keep up...don't be like that one guy in Back to the Future- what was his name...God...why did I just try to reference Back to the Future? Clint was right...should've just left it alone...Haha, Budapest, man… That was some deep shit…"

"Spencer," Lassiter began calmly, "Have you even been to Budapest?"

Shawn rolled his eyes, then winced at the motion. "It's...Budapest," was his eloquent response. "'M not supposed to talk about it. S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets and all. I mean, Agent would probably disagree with me tellin' you anything at all, but he's not as uptight as he acts. Neither is Nick, but I guess that's how people with eyepatches are, like in the movies 'n stuff…"

"Spencer, what the hell are you yammering on about now?!" He wasn't sure if he should be disturbed or stop listening, but despite himself, he was curious. There was nothing of Shawn before he'd come back to Santa Barbara- on record, of course, he had jumped from job to job, but there wasn't much to go off of. Did Spencer just really hop on his death trap of a motorcycle and drive all around the world, going from motel to motel, without a care in the world for ten years?

Seemed like too hard a way to live for ten years in Lassiter's opinion.

"C'mon, Lassie-face," Spencer drawled, and his eyes went hazy, "Don't be that thing that attacked that other thing in that one movie."

Lassiter choked and drew in a shaking breath, his nails scraping along the skin of his cheek. Patience. Not his thing, he wasn't going to lie. "Literally every movie ever made, Spencer."

Shawn frowned, and Lassiter was forcefully reminded once again that Shawn was concussed and probably had an even looser handle on his words than usual (and that was saying quite a lot). "Sorry, Lassiter," he said quietly. "I can't- I don't- I…"

"It's okay, Spencer," Lassiter lamely assured, belatedly realizing that it was the very first time Shawn had ever called him by his full name in anything but mockery. He took another deep breath. Christ, this was awkward. "Shawn," he said, hoping he sounded more soothing than he thought, and Shawn turned to drowsily look at him, "you're going to be all right. Hear me?"

Shawn hummed. "Y'know, been in a situation like this before," he said, and instead of questioning it, Lassiter decided to take advantage of it.

"Oh yeah?"

Shawn nodded, brows furrowed. "Was...after Budapest, I think...Clint 'n Tasha 'n me were having some trouble with the mission 'n I got stuck in the vents 'n they had to climb up all to get my dumb ass the hell outta Dodge. At that point I'd been shot pretty bad in the shin and had been up hiding out in 'em for a while, maybe, I dunno- four hours, three hours. I think I passed out or somethin' because my com was down and my head...there was a lot of blood and my wrist was real broken bad and sticking out of my skin…"

Lassiter canted his head, wincing at the mental image. "Who are Clint and Tasha?" He asked, the names rolling uncomfortably around on his tongue. They were too...personal, like Shawn was with Gus and Jules (and him, if he were honest) and sat too nicely on Spencer's lips, like he'd known them forever and trusted them more than he trusted himself.

He might, actually, Lassiter thought, if they'd gotten him out of such a tight spot. But then, why was he in that spot in the first place?

"Spencer, what were you even doing there in the first place?" He was more curious than annoyed now, and irritation flashed across Shawn's face.

"I told you already, Lassiter," he said sharply, his hazel eyes sharpening, "Budapest. Top secret hushed-y hush, remember? Like the X Files with Captain Hook without the hook."

And I've lost him again, Lassie realized, but glanced up when he saw O'Hara and Guster running towards them, Spencer Senior hot on their heels. "Oh, wonderful," Lassiter grumbled under his breath as he rocked back onto his heels to make room for Henry, "this is just brilliant."

"Shawn? Shawn!" Henry cupped his son's cheeks in his rough hands, his thumbs barely brushing against Shawn's bloody cheekbones.

Shawn's eyes fluttered open again and he murmured, "Dad? Wha...Wuzz'goin'on?"

"It's all right Shawn," Henry reassured gruffly, probably the most soothing he'd ever get before he turned to Carlton. "Did he say anything?" And he sounded urgent and sharp, and Lassiter found himself quickly shaking his head.

"No, just-"

"What?!"

"Nothing really! Spencer garble! He talked about- about Budapest and some people called Clint and Tasha and something about- being shot in the knee? And then...just general ridiculous things like eyepatches and bad half-references."

Henry sagged a little, grimacing. "Right. That's not too bad." He turned to his son, tisking as he undid the tie to check the damage. "You've managed a number on yourself, kid."

Shawn hummed in agreement. "Tasha's gonna kill me," he slurred. "She...She p'shed me down more stairs 'n I ever...would fall down all to teach me s'me balance...And where'd that come in handy, huh? Not...not right now, that's for one…"

"Shh, Shawn. Just don't talk, son."

"'N Clint, Clint- he'll prob'ly laugh 'bout the whole thing 'cause Tash will have s'more cause to push me down some more stairs…"

"Yeah Shawn, probably. I need you to stop talking now though kid, can you do that for me?"

Shawn looked at his dad through bleary, confused eyes. "Dad? When'd...When'd you get here?"

Henry sighed and pressed the tie more firmly to the back of his son's head, the sound of paramedic sirens in the distance a beacon of hope. "You fell and hit your head. I heard and I came. How you managed it I have no idea."

Shawn made another confused noise and turned halfway, wincing as he craned his neck. "I fell down those?" He asked in astonishment, eyes wide as he turned back to the group, Juliet worrying her lip between her teeth and a firm furrow to Gus's brows. "Tasha' gonna-"

"Kill you, we know," Lassiter snapped, rolling his eyes as Shawn turned to him slowly. He did feel a pang of regret as Juliet and Gus hissed at him and Henry turned to give him a nasty glare.

"Y'know, I think this might suck more'n Budapest, and that's saying something," Shawn muttered, his face pinching in pain.

"Shawn," Juliet asked softly. "What happened in Budapest?"

Shawn's face was flat for a minute before he broke out into a grin and began to laugh, maybe a little hysterically. "Wha-what ha-happened in Budapest," he chuckled. "That's the whole damn-ahn- question, innit? What happened...in….Budapest." All of his sentences were impeded with coughs and panting breaths, like he was having trouble breathing.

There was an odd ping! that made everyone jump slightly, then a loud ripping sound as music began to play. "God dammit," Shawn muttered as he reached behind him and pulled out his phone. "Why now…"

"Shawn," Henry warned as his son reached for the device, "don't answer-"

"Hello?" Shawn said as he swiped and Rump Shaker by Wreckx-N-Effect stopped playing, "This...is Agent Spen."

Lassiter turned to Henry and mouthed "Agent Spen?"

A feminine and very pissed off sounding voice was detectable from the other end of the phonecall. "Shawn, are you okay? We heard what happened."

Shawn let out a breathy laugh and looked up at the sky, his pupils still too uneven to be healthy. The sound of sirens were growing stronger now, and Lassiter glanced at his watch. Had it really only been five minutes?

"Define 'okay'," Shawn said in reply in what Lassiter realized was not to be cheeky, it was to divert the topic.

The woman on the other end cursed and must have turned to someone beside her, because they faintly heard: "Shit Clint, he's really screwed himself this time." Clint. The other partner that Spencer was rambling about. So this woman was Tasha?

"Hey Shawnie boy," came another voice, this one friendlier and less stress-filled and obviously belonging to a man, "how ya doing, man?"

Shawn made a strangled sound in his throat. "Been better," he choked. "How'd you find out?"

The man (Clint?) laughed on the other end. "Dude," he said, "you're an agent, one of the most kickass agents S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ever gotten their dirty hands on. They're not letting you off the grid that easy, man."

Shawn mumbled something in response that not even the group could make out, but Clint laughed again. "I know you're feeling lousy as hell right now Spen, but I need you to put your dad- your dad's there, right?- yeah, give him the phone for me."

Shawn complied with a weak, "it's for you," as he passed the touch phone to his father, his hand slumping in his lap again.

"This is Henry Spencer," Spencer Senior said as he put the phone to his ear.

"Hi Mr. Spencer, I'm Agent Clint Barton and I'm a coworker of your son's," the man on the end said. "I've worked with him for five years; we work for an organization that your son was apart of. He was one of our top agents. Is he injured?"

Henry sighed, rubbing a hand over his face even as he watched Gus begin to distract Shawn, the empty gaze getting to all of them a little bit. "Yeah, he's fallen down a flight of stairs and hit his head pretty good. It doesn't look great; it's bloody and there's a gash, and his pupils aren't the right size. He's concussed for sure."

There was a pause as Clint Barton said something to his partner. "All right," he finally answered. "Tell Shawn to sit tight and we'll be there in-" another pause- "half an hour at least. Barton out."

There was a click, and Henry lowered the phone away from his ear, tuning into the conversation. Lassiter rolled his eyes.

"Nuh...nuh uh, Gus…" Shawn gasped. "Pineapples are always better...than...mangoes."

"Now you're just lying," Gus accused. "Mangoes have so many benefits pineapples don't! They're-"

"Pineapples are good...for...the soul," Shawn argued. "Mangoes will never have the same mojo that-"

He was cut off as five paramedics entered the scene, jogging up to them. Between them all they carried first aid bags, a stretcher, a neck brace, and a couple other instruments and equipment. "Hey there," A middle aged blonde man said kindly, smiling at Shawn, "hit your head pretty hard, huh?" Shawn nodded. "That's all right. Here, we're going to get you into this neck brace- nothing's wrong, just as a precaution- and then get you onto this stretcher, okay? Sit tight."

Shawn groggily let them maneuver his body into different positions as they strapped him into the stretcher, and he looked at Lassiter thoughtfully as they lifted him. "You'd have been helpful in Budapest," he said, and before Lassiter had the chance to demand what he meant he was in the back of an ambulance.

"What hospital are they going to?" Lassiter asked distractedly, his eyes following the ambulance as it began to pull away.

"Santa Barbara Central," Juliet answered, and Lassiter watched the tiny blue Echo Gus drove pull out and follow the ambulance. "Why?" Then something incredulous filled her tone. "Lassiter, are you actually worried?"

Lassiter's head snapped to look at his partner. "It's not concern," he said. "It's the need to know where he is so I can avoid it to the very best of my ability. I've had enough of their shenanigans for today."

Juliet gave a skeptic "uh huh" but didn't bring it up again, and the case was wrapped up without further incident, much to everyone's relief.

...

Lassiter's curiosity got the better of him and he found himself trodding lightly outside of Spencer's room, the door open just enough for the head detective to peer inside and listen without being seen. He knew O'Hara had visited earlier during the day and brought a pineapple smoothie for Shawn, but he wasn't bearing any of the sort and wondered if he should have, blaming it on the station or something pitching in and he was just delivering.

He could make out three distinct voices from where he was poised in the hallway, amusement prickling uncomfortably in the back of his mind as he heard Spencer's high and somewhat disoriented voice bantering back to whatever one of them had said. Peering inside slightly, Henry nor Gus was there, but Lassiter figured Henry had gone for a change of clothing and Gus had routes to take care of from his second job.

"'S not my fault," Spencer argued, his eyes half mast as they glared halfheartedly at the redhead. Lassiter could only see the back of her head from the way she was positioned perched at the end of the bed, but he could already tell she was most likely beautiful.

"I pushed you down all those stairs and you get thrown down a flight," the woman said sharply, and Lassiter's mind flickered back to the name 'Tasha' in his memory. Tasha. Short for Natalie? Natasha?

"I gotta say man, that's pretty impressive," the other, more familiar voice said, and Lassiter figured this was Clint Barton. "She pushed you down a lot of stairs. So many times. In fact, I'm traumatized from just watching you tumble down so many stairs."

Shawn huffed and gingerly crossed his arms over his chest, concealing a wince not quite successfully. Lassiter was fascinated to find that, when Spencer wasn't milking all the attention from an injury, he was kind of tough. The inspector hadn't heard one complaint fall from Spencer's lips so far since he'd hit his head, only confused mumblings.

"I still don't see why you were justified to push me in the first place," he grumbled, and the redhead threw up her hands.

"To avoid this! It was necessary for your training!"

Shawn scoffed, replying, "because I'm sure Fury approved."

There, another name to keep track of. Lassiter soundlessly sighed and jumped when he was addressed by the man in the room: "Oh, and if the man at the door would be kind enough to step in so we can properly talk, that'd probably be appreciated."

Lassiter, raising his chin and refusing to look abashed, stepped into the room, doing his best to ignore the look that lit up Shawn's face as he exclaimed: "Lassie!" In what was clearly joy. His brightness diminishing a little, he asked in a slightly more subdued tone, "did Juliet send you?" Then, perking: "More importantly, did you bring me a pineapple smoothie?!"

"Shawn, that'd be the sixth one," Tasha said, her face disapproving. "Today."

Shawn levelled her with a look. "Pineapples are supposed to help recovery," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The lady snorted. "Just like me pushing you down those stairs was supposed to help you keep your balance when it actually happened?"

"Three concussions and a broken wrist, Romanoff!" Shawn shouted in faux-annoyance as he glared at her. "Three concussions and a broken wrist!"

"You deserved the broken wrist," Clint reminded. "You were the one who-"

"Haha, haha," Shawn overlapped with a fake laugh, hiding another wince, "so uh Lassie, uh, what are you doing here anyway? Did Juliet send you?"

"I can do things of my accord Spencer, I don't need O'Hara to tell me," Lassiter snapped and Shawn blanched, going a little pale. Startled at the sudden lack of color in the psychic's cheeks, he turned and swallowed when he caught the two pairs of ferocious glares that he received from Spencer's friends and found himself assured that these people were very, very dangerous and a very real threat.

"I'm...sorry," he apologized, the words foreign in his mouth. "Don't be so touchy, Spencer."

Shawn grinned, but Lassiter could almost, almost see the gleam of pain veiled in his eyes. He sighed. He'd found out more about Spencer in the past three days than he had in the last three years. "If I'm not touchy, I can't be nicknamed Spence-sloth, which I hope will stick one day."

"Why, why would you even want to be named that?"

Spencer grinned his classic thousand-watt-grin, explaining, "well obviously because sloths are beautiful and majestic beings- such as myself- and they can turn their heads two hundred seventy- two hundred seventy!- degrees and cling whenever they want to and not get glances for it and eat all the time, I think it'd be pretty great to be a sloth."

The two agents just shook their heads and Lassiter finally summoned the guts to say what he'd pondered over for the last three days since Spencer had mentioned it. "Spencer...what did happen in Budapest?"

Their smiles faded and they glanced at each other, and Shawn laughed. It sounded forced to Lassiter's trained ears and he wondered why he'd never been able to hear it before. "Oh, Lassafras-"

"Sassafras," Clint Barton corrected under his breath-

"Don't be Mr. Strickland from Back to the Future," he said, grinning. "Roll with the punches." When Lassiter only looked confused, Shawn added, "Aw Lassie, c'mon. I was concussed and confused and the hell if I know what I was saying. I don't even know what Budapest is, aside from that one crappy movie with the doll from Budapest- what was it called? Aw dammit, where's Gus when you need him-"

And this was the moment when Lassiter was convinced Spencer wasn't faking his concussion, because the day Shawn Spencer forgot his references was a dark day indeed- "But anyways," Shawn said with a smile, "I have no idea what happened in Budapest." He turned to Clint and whispered loudly, "ha! You owe me twenty bucks."

And Clint's indignant, "hey! Since when do I owe you twenty bucks? I just told you to leave Back to the Future references alone because you're shit at them!"

Lassiter shook his head and rolled his eyes, leaving Spencer to his equally nutty friends. He had a feeling that Spencer did know what happened in Budapest, and so did those two agents in there, but he wouldn't press. The way he saw it, everyone had demons, and if anyone went poking at Lassiter's the way Shawn managed to push his buttons he'd be pretty damn pissed off as well, and want to avoid it as much as he could.

So he wouldn't know what happened, and maybe that was for the better. Who even knew what happened in Budapest anyway?

Alright-y! That's it for the prequel to the Barton/O'Brien Fam. Thanks for reading, please leave me a comment on your thoughts and I hope you enjoyed!