Title: The Tape
Author: Papergirl/ambino1111
Category: Angst
Rating: whatever 1 use of the "F" word gets you nowadays
Spoilers: None
Summary: Shawn can't make out the words but he doesn't need to; they've been having the same fight for over a year.
Author's Notes: Just a little snippet from Shawn & Henry's past. It might become part of a larger story.
The Tape
Shawn is staring at the glowing pegs in his Lite Brite and slowly slipping into sleep when a door slam jolts him back into consciousness.
He can't help his heart racing; his senses sharpening. The sounds from downstairs may be muffled to a normal ear, but Shawn can hear it all. He hears the distinctive footsteps of his father, the clink of his key ring being dropped in the dish next to the door. He recognizes his father's tenor, his mother's voice, higher, angrier. The TV in the living room is on, but someone switches it off. Footsteps head to the kitchen. His mother is still talking, still angry. Shawn swears he hears the fridge open and can almost make out the characteristic pop and fizzle of a newly opened can of beer.
His mother's voice raises and so does his father's.
Shawn can't make out the words but he doesn't need to; they've been having the same fight for over a year.
Their voices rise and fall like a familiar roller coaster. Shawn knows all the dips and curves and loop-de-loops of this ride; it doesn't mean he doesn't still get nervous and nauseated on the journey.
Shawn's alert eyes adjust quickly to the relative darkness of his bedroom. He spies his walkman on his desk and slips quietly out of bed to retrieve it.
With a sigh of resignation, a sigh well-known by children of strained marriages, Shawn pops the walkman open and pulls out the cassette tape. He reaches over and rummages through the top drawer of his nightstand: a yo-yo, a broken slinky, some papers, the rubik's cube he stole from Gus, a half-eaten bag of Big League grape bubble gum, and finally, way in the back, the tape.
Shawn will never admit to owning the tape, much less to the reason of the tape's existence. But no one will ever ask, and Shawn's secret is safe for one more night.
The fight reaches the base of the stairs. Shawn can feel his chest tightening. He slips the headphones on and climbs back under his ratty Transformers covers.
Footsteps on the stairs. Coming up. Angry words. A step down. Two steps.
Shawn slides the volume dial all the way up. He squints his eyes shut, bracing himself.
They were almost to the landing.
"If you're so fucking miserable, then why don't you leave?"
He hits play.
It works like magic.
The loud voices, the anger, the fear, it all fades away. The music washes over him, loud and reassuring. Soon his ears adjust, and eventually his drowsiness returns.
Shawn is mere seconds from sleep when a slit of light plays across his closed eyelids. He opens them instinctively and then squeezes them shut against the harsh hallway light. A silhouette stands in the doorway, watching him. He knows it's his dad, and he knows his dad knows he's awake.
Henry takes a hesitant step inside the room. Shawn makes no attempt to open his eyes or acknowledge the other man's presence in any way.
Henry crosses the room and leans over, sliding the headphones off his son's ears.
"Jesus, Shawn, do you want to go deaf?"
Shawn doesn't move. He focuses on regulating his breathing, nice and slow and steady like he's sleeping. He even twitches his eyes a little under his eyelids, for the REM effect.
Henry takes the walkman from his hand. Shawn hears the click as he pushes stop. The room is plunged into an eerie silence. Shawn only hears their breathing and the distant echoes of the latest argument, and then the protesting of mattress springs as his dad sits down by his feet.
"You okay, kid?"
Shawn takes a deep breath before opening his eyes. He looks Henry right in the eyes.
"I'm sleeping, Dad."
There are too many shadows for Shawn to read his father's face, but he can make an educated guess.
Henry clears his throat and awkwardly puts his hand on the blanket above Shawn's shin.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that."
"Nothing I haven't heard before," Shawn retorts quickly, rolling on his side and turning away from his father.
Henry sits there for a moment, his hand still resting on his son's leg. He doesn't know what to say to make it better. He doesn't know what to say, period. It isn't supposed to be like this. He's a good guy. He loves his wife, he loves his son, he loves his job, maybe not in the order he should but he loves all three. He's a hard worker but lately everything is getting too hard; his marriage is slipping out of his grasp, his son is growing more distant every day, it's all just falling apart around him and he's just so tired.
Henry pats Shawn's knee and stands with a sigh.
"Good night, Shawn."
Shawn says nothing. He doesn't move but watches the shadow of his father's figure as he closes the door. Shawn listens as his father's footsteps fade down the stairs. When Shawn wakes up tomorrow, there will be no sign that his father slept on the couch again. But they'll all know.
Shawn rubs his eyes and tries to fall asleep.
The End
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