It's dark outside.

The trees all gnarled and barren against the deep inky blue sky, stars coming to life in the gaps between the branches. A cool wind carries through the brittle fallen leaves, strident and rustling the dead foliage. He, the lone figure on the pathway, is heedless of the eerie setting and makes his way through the park. Though the wind sends a chill the man's leather jacket and heavy biker boots are too warm for the night. It is of little difference to him. There are bigger issues to deal with than his attire.

The moon, a warm and dusty orange, crescent, slips out from behind a wispy cloud and changes the shadows cast by the trees. There is one shadow that does not move with the rest and the man slows his step to a halt. Warning of danger clammers through his body, standing the hair of his neck on end. He waits with his hands in the jacket's pockets, wind swirling dead leaves around his feet.

It doesn't take long for the solid shadow to abandon pretense and step into the concrete path. He stands opposite with his hands at his sides, twitching in nervousness he'd rather pretend were anticipation. His dark hair is partially tucked under a black cap and his boots scuff the ground as he carefully approaches. The wind presses his hoodie against his back and urges him forward, though he would rather not.

"Shawn." It's neither a greeting nor a warning.

Shawn smirks, tilting his head as he pulls his hands free of the pockets.

"Hey, Eliot."

Eliot rebels against the wind and stops as he takes in Shawn. His little cousin is standing nonchalant despite the fact there's a spray of blood staining his Apple Jacks shirt and rivets of it running down the leather of his jacket. There's a dark smudge along his jaw and the skin of his knuckles are torn like they've been bashed against brick. Something sick settles in Eliot's stomach and he swallows thickly to combat it.

"What's the matter, Ellie?" Shawn goads with a playful smile that is no longer innocent, "Cat got your tongue?"

"The hell you doing, Shawn?" Eliot asks because he doesn't know what else to say.

He would desperately like to believe they were all wrong. That his baby cousin was just a con-artist, a slacker, maybe a bit of an ass some days. But, not this. Eliot can't really deny it without outright lying to himself. He's seen people go down this path before. That attitude of misplaced confidence and arrogance stemming from taboo sources of power and self-esteem boost. Eliot knows it.

And it's all over Shawn.

"The hell you doing, Eliot?" Shawn parrots, except there is no smile, no humor. His tone is flat with an edge that makes Eliot want to leave. Not out of fear, but out of the inevitable.

Eliot is shaking his head before he can stop himself, a bitter smile curling his lips. "You gotta stop, man."

"Don't act like you're a saint," Shawn snaps, not loud, but steely and even, "And don't act like they didn't deserve it."

"What I do," Eliot takes a step forward, feeling anger build up instead of dread, "Is not what you do, Shawn. What you do is sick."

It's too late to take it back and Eliot wishes he had shut up. Shawn's face manages to be both blank and radiate anger, then he takes a step forward. Eliot is very aware of the shrinking distance between them.

"What I do," Shawn takes another step and Eliot feels his feet slide back, "What I do is what you and your team are too afraid to do. I do what the cops can't do!"

His voice raises on the last sentence and Shawn's brow furrows. He takes a half step before pausing and leveling his cousin with a glare.

"If what I do is sick, then the justice system is a plague." Shawn speaks slowly, each word laced with venom.

"What happened to her-" Eliot doesn't make it further than that.

"Don't you dare." Shawn spits out with a snarl. Eliot huffs a sigh and glances away, staring unseeing into the grove of trees. They stand silent as one attempts to forget the catalyst of his decisions and the other attempts to figure out what to do next.

When Eliot turns back to him, Shawn wants to gouge out those big and blue eyes because they're staring straight through him. There's pity, but overwhelmingly there's understanding and- and Shawn thinks, hopes desperately, there's some semblance of forgiveness. He can't accept it now though, he just can't. Eliot takes a step forward and it startles Shawn out of his thoughts enough to make him take a step back.

Perhaps encouraged by the momentary display of weakness, Eliot strides forward. Shawn doesn't want what is coming either. He'll take it though and he'll show Eliot, make him see. It's that thought that keeps Shawn rooted where he is despite Eliot drawing closer. He flinches though when Eliot places a hand on his shoulder, it's not entrapping or a prelude to something worse, but a gesture of empathy. Shawn hates it. It's all he can do to simply lower his head and not crack under the kindness being shown to him. Some part of him wants to, he can't though. He's gone so far he can't.

"She wouldn't have wanted this. I don't want this, Shawn." Elliot says quietly.

Shawn closes his eyes briefly. He doesn't want this either. But, what those people did to Juliet, what the court system did; nothing short of their utter annihilation will satisfy Shawn. It's that thought that strengthens his resolve. If Eliot won't help him then Shawn will have to deal with him.

"I don't want this either." Shawn murmurs before lashing out with a palm heel strike to Eliot's collar bone. The blow is hard enough to wind Eliot and force him to give up his grip on Shawn's shoulder. Shawn delivers a kick to Eliot's knee and that's as far as he gets. Eliot ducks low and tackles him in the midsection, knocking them both down on the unforgiving concrete.

Shawn has never been the best at physical fighting, always preferring to play mind games or manipulate someone else into fighting for him. Eliot's fist connects with Shawn's nose and he can feel the bone break. Another hit comes, but Shawn feels the difference, the hesitance. Unlike his cousin, he actually wants to fight. It's that wild streak of anger that runs deep in the Spencer men that has Shawn headbutting his cousin before driving a knee into his groin and throwing him off. It's a hell of a cheap shot, but Shawn doesn't care. Real fighting isn't some choreographed dance, it's ugly and unfair and Shawn feels like being just that. He pins his cousin down and throws a punch. Eliot's head snaps to the side and Shawn thinks he shouldn't hit so hard.

But, Eliot is supposed to be the one that helps him when things get too real and Gus can't possibly begin to understand. Like when Juliet was kidnapped. Like when Shawn couldn't solve the case quick enough. Like when they found her body weeks later. Like when the court dragged out the trial so long that the judge let the murderers go on a technicality.

Shawn throws a fifth and final hit, his hand swollen and stiff. Under him, Eliot's face is bloodied, nose broken, lip split, and his eyes screwed shut. It's not like Eliot to give up a fight, to just take it, and it makes Shawn irrationally angry.

Twisting his hands into the fabric of Eliot's shirt, Shawn pulls him up enough to slam his head against the concrete.

"You know you're lucky," Shawn hisses, repeating the same maneuver, eliciting a groan from Eliot, "Because if you weren't one of the last things I had left, I'd kill you."

Shawn shoves against his cousin as he gets up and stumbles away. Breathing hard through his mouth, Shawn stands there for a moment, his back to Eliot. Blood trickles down from Shawn's broken nose and he gingerly wipes it away as he glances over his shoulder.

Eliot is still on the ground, but Shawn thinks it's less because he's hurt and more because he doesn't want to do this. Staring at the other man's face makes Shawn realize he really doesn't want to do this either. He meant what he said and he should walk away in order to hold himself to it.

So he does.

Eliot's voice carries to him despite the rustling leaves and growing distance between them; Shawn doesn't know if it's a threat or a promise,

"I'll find you."

This is for tigriswolf on LiveJournal

I don't know them, but they wanted dark!Shawn (and a Leverage Crossover) and I'm more than happy to oblige.

Also, I don't own this. Obviously. It's Fan Fiction.