Shawn sat at the kitchen table of his house. It always felt strange calling it his home, though his name was on the deed. But to him, it would always be his dad's house.
Shawn hadn't changed a thing since he moved in here. There was still a disturbing amount of fishing paraphernalia on the wall, the old family photos were still there, and the fishing boat was still waiting in the garage for him to take it out. He wasn't in the mood for a fishing trip right now though.
Shawn had never spent enough time here to notice (he preferred to spend most of his time at the station) but this house was full of ghosts. Everywhere he looked there were pictures of his dad; every time he glanced over his shoulder there was an old memory waiting to greet him in the form of an old trinket of his dad's. Shawn wasn't sure how much longer he could take it. Bombarded by old memories, not all of them good, he was remembering the fights he had forgotten about long ago; remembering how pointless and idiotic they were.
Shawn took a sip of his beer, but found he couldn't stomach much more than that. He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling frustration course through him, feeling so damn helpless.
When he opened his eyes, he had thrown the beer bottle against the wall. He felt the rage pulsing through him and took a deep breath. He couldn't feel angry. He didn't want to feel angry, he was tired of having to feel anger, feel period. It was just too hard. Was it so much to ask to just be able to not feel this way? Just to put a lid on his emotions and try to move on?
The shattered pieces were scattered around the kitchen and Shawn wearily grabbed a broom and swept up the mess of his burst of anger. He swept it up, knowing the lid he had kept on his emotions was slowly coming off. Without work to distract him, he had taken to diligently cleaning his already spotless house, but even that could only keep him occupied for a few hours. Once he was done, there was nothing left to do but to think. And to think was a dangerous thing. It only caused the imaginary lid he kept on his anger and sadness to come off even more quickly. He didn't need that. He just needed to go through his life not feeling. It had worked great for him before.
He hated this house. Shawn realized it then. He hated living in his dad's old house. He hated the guilt he felt every time he remembered a fight, and the sadness he felt every time he saw a family photo. Oh God, he hated it so much. Shawn threw down the broom and stepped over the broken pieces of bottle. He had to get out of here. It didn't matter what else he did, he had to get out of here.
Shawn practically sprinted out of the house, jumping into his car. He started the engine and began to drive, not sure where he was going. Usually his emotions began to strip away as he got farther from the house, falling off him and floating away. But this time they seemed to want to cling onto him, no matter how far he drove. Shawn, without knowing why, turned on his police scanner. He needed something to distract him, anything.
For a minute he just drove, letting the sounds of the police scanner calm him down. Then he began to listen to the police scanner more closely.
There was a robbery stand off on Galiger Street. It sounded like it was going badly; they were calling for all the backup they could get. Shawn bit the inside of his lip. He was on vacation. He was ordered not to come back until next week.
A sudden thought occurred to Shawn, and it made him grin. The chief ordered him not to go back to the station until Monday; she hadn't said anything about a bank. A bank that just happened to be rife with crime.
Shawn turned onto 2nd Street taking the quickest route to the bank he knew. He patted the gun in his holster, making sure it was still there. He took the car five miles over the speed limit, feeling a slight thrill in his veins.
This was more like a move that the old Shawn Spencer would make, the kid with the earring who loved to break the rules. Hell, he might as well grow his hair out and do something stupid like steal a car; it would get him in the same amount of trouble as he was getting himself in right now. Shawn knew he resembled that kid more than he did himself right now. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.
But damn it if he didn't feel better than he had in a long time.
/
Shawn pulled up to the bank, eyeing the police cars gathered around the area. They were all paying rapt attention to the front of the bank, and Shawn's attention shifted to there.
He groaned. The robber was clearly not having a good time of it. He looked to be only in his 20's, and even from here Shawn could see the sweat covering his shirt. The kid was standing outside, a backpack of cash on his back, and holding a woman's head to his chest. "I'll shoot!" he cried, his voice trembling. "Anyone comes close and I'll shoot!" The woman was scared shitless, visibly shaking.
Shawn could see the officers trying to talk him down. And if it were any other robber it might have worked, but this kid was too desperate. He was ready to shoot at any time, whether it meant screwing himself over or not.
The police didn't know that. They didn't notice the subtle raise of his eyebrow, the slight clench of his palm. They didn't know he was going to shoot. They were just trying to talk him down.
Shawn had been with the police department for too long to think of them as incompetent, but right now he knew that they needed help. They needed him.
Shawn shoved himself through the crowd of people surrounding the scene and jumped over the barrier separating him and the criminal. This was as stupid as he could get, throwing police protocol out the window. He could practically feel the weight of an earring on his lobe.
"Hey there," he said calmly, putting his hands up as the kid swung around to meet him, pointing the gun at his chest. Shawn could see Lassiter's and Vick's astonished (and somewhat furious) expressions out of the corner of his eye, and couldn't help but smirk.
"W-Who are you?" the kid asked.
"I'm a friend. See, no gun," Shawn said showing his empty palms, neglecting to expose his holster. But the kid was fooled, and he relaxed slightly.
"Look man, I'm not getting caught by these cops," he said shakily.
"I don't want you to get caught by the cops either," Shawn said, keeping his voice slow and reassuring. "But we don't need to bring that lovely young woman into this, do we?" Shawn laughed slightly. "I mean, she's not trying to arrest you, is she?"
The kid slowly shook his head. "She's not…but if I let her go, they'll shoot me," he said jerking his head at the cops.
"I won't let that happen," Shawn promised, crossing his fingers slightly. "Just hand me the girl and we can talk this out, okay?"
After a moment's thought this seemed to make sense to the kid and he nodded, shoving the woman towards Shawn. He continued to point the gun though, this time finding a new target. Shawn.
"Go behind the barricade," Shawn ordered the woman, and she nodded, running as far away from the gun as she could. Shawn continued to keep his hands up, smiling at the young robber.
"See? That worked out great, didn't it?" he said. "But if you want the police to leave you alone, you can't be armed." Shawn pretended to think for a moment. "Here, hand me your gun. I promise I'll give it back."
But Shawn apparently went too far with that one, the kid's eyes narrowing instantly. "No, you only want my gun so they can get me," he said, pointing it steadily at Shawn.
"No, that's no-"
"You're on their side!" he cried. "You're trying to trick me!"
"Listen, I'm not-"
The gunshot blast sounded in Shawn's ears, making everything else sound muffled. He felt himself jerk back, like he had been pushed by an invisible boxing glove. Everything seemed to swim together in front of him. He distantly heard another gunshot. He saw the kid fall down, his shirt stained by red.
Shawn felt dizzy, and fell onto his back. He hit the ground, feeling a massive pain in his side. He puts his hands to his ribs and looked at them. They were drenched in blood.
Shawn took a shuddering breath and looked down at his side, seeing the red liquid pour out of it. The light asphalt around him was now a deep purple. He looked around himself, confused. Lassiter was at his side now, putting his hands against Shawn's wound. Shawn cried out in pain and his vision became fuzzy. Lassiter continued doing it though, saying some nonsense about it being for his own good.
He could sense the crowd of panicking people watching him, watching the poor young cop who was going to die before his time. What a shame, him having to die so early like that. It was always the good ones that died young. At least it would be an honorable death, a hero's death.
A hero's death or a regular death…either way it was just death.
Shawn heard the words his eighteen year old self had once thought and felt like the kid with the earring was right beside him. What was that kid thinking right now? Was he proud that he had died a noble death (A hero's death or a regular death…either way it was just death), or angry that he had decided to follow in his father's footsteps even in his death?
He had been living his father's life. Shawn felt a surge of self loathing then. He was born a damn cop, and now he'll die a damn cop. Shawn felt the burning pain in his side and tried to remember how he had gotten here.
He saw the woman he had saved, standing behind the barricade. At least she was safe. Could he die to save another life? Apparently the answer was yes.
Shawn felt the world fading away from him, no matter how hard he tried to keep his hold on consciousness. He could hear the muffled cries of the crowd; hear Lassiter trying to keep him alive until the paramedics came. He could feel his suit soaked with blood; feel the gunshot wound that was making every breath a laborious task. He could see Lassiter over him, see the whole police station gathered around, see the paramedics come and get him on a gurney.
He saw his eighteen year old self for a moment. The kid with the earring and the ridiculous 80's hair staring at him in disbelief. In disbelief because he was a cop, a workaholic, everything he had promised himself he would never become. That he had nothing except his job saving people, and that it was the only thing keeping him going. Disbelief that he was resigning himself to death. That he still hadn't let go.
"I can't," he gasped aloud. The paramedics tried to tell him that he needed to stay conscious, not knowing what he was truly talking about.
A hero's death-
He couldn't let go. His dad was dead. His dad was dead, and he was going to die the same way.
-or a regular death…
Shawn felt himself going then. He wondered if things would have been different if he just could have let go. If he had just moved on. Living like this was more like death than anything else. Living in a permanent state of grief. Shawn didn't want that. It was time to let go.
Either way it was just death.