Teen!Shawn AU- Shawn had never been able to live up to his father's expectations, so what other option was there? Dark fic. Insp. By "Perfect" by Simple Plan.
There will actually be TWO endings to this story, the second one will be in the second chapter.
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"I'M SORRY!" The younger Spencer cried out angrily, eyes ablaze with tears as he stared at his father. His voice softened, breaking slowly down to the last syllable-to the point of nearly being a whisper, "I'm sorry I didn't grow up accordingly to your perfect little plan, okay?"
"So am I." The response was blunt, harsh. Henry stood across from Shawn, arms crossed (a position he often found himself in).
Shawn could actually feel his heart break at his father's crippling words, but despite the ache, he glared back at the man that had long ago decided he would never live up to expectations.
They stood for a seemingly long amount of time in the dim room, their body language continuing the fight they were previously having.
Henry was the first to move, shaking his head in disappointment before leaving the house.
Shawn turned his head just enough to watch the headlights brighten the dark night, he sighed as they quickly disappeared, his shoulders drooped and the tears now fell freely.
His father was right.
His father had always been right.
Shawn Spencer was nothing more than a failure.
So, what was the point?
What was the point of going to bed, just to wake up tomorrow and see the contempt his father held for him? The disappointment, the anger, the annoyance...the hatred he held for himself? He'd thought about traveling after high school, to get away and never come back, but he knew he would still face the same problems and feelings. There was only one way to make things right, and this wasn't it.
He was better off dead.
Shawn gripped his arms in an attempt to soothe himself as he nodded his head sharply-silently confirming his plan. He walked towards his father's room that he once shared with his mother, and straight to the gun safe.
He knew his father kept the gun he planned on giving Shawn when he became a cop, but that dream had long since died. How ironic. Shawn thought as he waited for the safe to unlock. Or is that even irony? I could never figure that one out...
The locks finally beeped, signaling the young Spencer to punch in the numbers once more. Shawn held the gun, feeling the weight of it. He wondered what his father would think. But they'd lost their relationship years ago, if they'd ever had one at all. He could remember actually wanting to be like his father, until he realized just how far his father would go to ensure that path. By now, Henry knew his son would never be a detective, or a hero, or anything.
Maybe this will just be one last screw-up from good ole Shawnee.
Shawn stood from his bent position, closing the safe and leaving the room. He walked up the stairs to his bedroom, eyes falling on the few photos left on the wall. His mother had taken most of them. She left us, why would she want to remember us? He rolled his eyes in anger, but he knew his mind was just trying to distract him. To distract him from his final plan, to do anything to stop him from doing this.
But that wouldn't work.
He closed his bedroom door, but did not lock it. Shawn wrote down seven words on a clean page of his notebook, then he crossed it out-writing four different ones. He stared at the paper that was slowly blurring from the tears dripping down, before sitting on his bed, gun still in hand.
He bit his lip, subconsciously wanting to back out of another one of his dangerous exhibitions. He gulped, the lump stuck in his throat. He shut his eyes, feeling the gun he was trained to handle, the bitter cold sending a shiver through his body. Now or never.
He heard it before he felt it.
The pure energy that rattled the entire room was almost deafening, shattering the silence that Henry encountered as he entered the home.
He immediately bolted up the stairs, his instincts overtaking his mind. "SHAWN!" It seemed he couldn't run fast enough, and the fact that his son was not answering assured him that maybe that was for the best. But he continued, his eyes blurring with tears as he shouted pathetically. "SHAWN?"
He reached the door, slamming it open. Henry stood frozen, momentarily, as he took in the scene before him.
The gun.
The blood. Oh god, the blood.
Shawn.
Henry felt himself falling to the floor, crying as he crawled towards his son's lifeless, destroyed, body. "No, please...Shawnee...Shawn?"
"Shawn! Answer me!" His voice was angry, "Please?" He pleaded now, but he knew he would never hear his son's funny, sarcastic voice again.
He held him in his arms, his cop side telling him to call it in, but he couldn't. He couldn't let go of his son. Not physically or mentally...He couldn't. Henry saw the open notebook then, laying on the nightstand. He didn't want to see what was written. But he had to. He picked it up with one hand, that he now noticed was bloody from lovingly petting his son's hair. He shivered, closing his eyes briefly before reading his son's final words.
I am sorry I can't be perfect. Was scratched out, and a new sentence was written underneath. The words were blurry and smeared, but Henry could read it none the less.
I love you, Dad.
"I'm so sorry, Shawn...I'm so sorry." He told his son, who would never hear those words. He didn't realize how far he had pushed his son, it had always been for the best. That's what he'd told himself, anyway. But maybe it hadn't been. Certainly not if it ended this way. "I love you Shawn, I'm..I'm so sorry." He did not fight the tears as he held onto his son, bone-crushingly tight.
He heard the sirens getting closer and he closed his eyes. It would be real in a few seconds, and he wasn't ready for that.