So...heya people. This is a psychfic written by myself, and my friend. Enjoy the collaberation.
Disclaimer: We don't own Psych...if we did, well, that would be awesome.
1987
Shouts filled the air as a dark-skinned boy tackled another boy to the ground.
"Gotcha!" he called out in victory. Excitement plastered itself on his face.
"Not fair Gus!" his friend protested from underneath him. "You know the slippery areas of the grass are off-limits!"
Gus threw his freckled playmate a smug grin. "I'm not the one who ran over there." He stood and held out his hand expectantly.
"What?"
"You know what Shawn. It's my turn to throw the football. Hand it over."
Shawn frowned and pulled a blade of grass from his shaggy brown hair. "Fine. Here."
"Sweet!" Gus squeezed the ball tightly. "Okay, start running!"
Shawn rose reluctantly and dusted off his shirt as he began to run backwards. If his dad caught him with a messy shirt, he wouldn't be able to go to the arcade with Gus that weekend. As he ran back, his eyes scanned the backyard. Green grass made up most of it, minus the bushes that aligned the perimeter and the white fence he had tried to climb over last week. Didn't work out so well, and he ended up having to spend an hour shopping with his dad for new pants.He shuddered at the memory.
Hopefully he would never have to repeat that trip.
A brown blur whizzed past him and stirred him out of his reminiscence. He heard a distinct 'thud' as it hit a chair on the porch. The boy glared at his friend. "Gus! You could've broken the window! Watch your aim."
Gus shrugged. "I wasn't aiming for you."
What did he mean, he wasn't aiming for him? Of course he was. They were playing with the football, and the idea was to throw it to the other person and then see how long they could dodge the thrower for.
A sudden jolt to the head knocked him to the ground. What the heck? Shawn looked at the ground next to him. The football laid there mocking his lack of attention. Annoyed, he picked it up and looked toward the direction it had been projected from.
Standing on the porch was a boy a year or two older than Shawn. He had ruffled brown hair and cocky, icy eyes. What annoyed Shawn was the confident stance and guilty grin. Before Shawn could say anything, Henry Spencer appeared at the door and walked outside into the sunny afternoon. He placed a hand on the mysterious boy's shoulder.
"Gus! Time to go home. Shawn, your cousin's here!"
A throbbing pain appeared in the back of Shawn's head. "Yeah, I know."
--
Henry glanced at his son again. He'd given up on telling the boy to sit up. Of all the times Shawn had to be stubborn, it was when his Aunt and Uncle were over. During dinner.
Shawn had slid down so far in his seat that technically, he was no longer sitting in the chair. He rested his chin on his hand and spun his fork on the plate with the other. He hated adult conversations. They were usually about something stupid or boring. For an hour now, his father and uncle had been talking about fishing. Fishing was boring and stupid. He'd been able to ignore them while he was eating, but now that he was full, he prayed that his father would give him a dismissive look.
He may have been able to bear it if his cousin was still there. Shawn really did like his cousin. He could talk to him and sometimes, sometimes understand him. Especially about Voltron. Or Star Wars. He liked talking about Star Wars, even if the movie had been way too long for him to sit through.
At the moment though, his cousin was absent. He had wolfed down his dinner in about five seconds and promptly left to do homework, leaving Shawn alone and bored and surrounded by grown-ups.
In the other room, he heard a book shut and noticed a light turn off. Shawn pulled himself back into his seat and listened.
His cousin walked in books in hand. He nodded to Henry as he head toward his parents.He leaned over her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek, "Night mom."
Shawn's aunt smiled. "Alright. G'night dear."
He hugged his dad briefly and walked around the table toward Shawn. He stopped for a second to mess up his "baby cousin's" hair.
"Night Squirt," he said through a laugh.
Shawn quickly tried to fix his hair and shoot him a dirty look as he walked out of the kitchen.Grumbling, the boy slid back into his slouching position. "Why does his always call me that? It's like he's the devil or something. He's always being mean and throwing things at my head."
"Shawn!" Henry sent an icy glare in his son's direction.
"What?! It's true!"