His whole body shakes as he stares across the living room at his father. His father doesn't look any different than he did when Shawn was a child – same cop uniform, same blonde hair, same briefcase, even the same fucking stance. He doesn't look apologetic. He doesn't look upset.
Well, scratch that, he looks pretty damn upset but it's more anger than anything else.
"What the fuck did you do?" Shawn finds his voice, and he notices, absently, that he's curled his hands into fists. His voice shakes with anger, but Henry merely sighs, removes his police hat, and takes a step forward.
"Shawn, you've known this was coming for a while now."
"I knew you were getting divorced, I didn't fucking think you were gonna kick Mom out and leave me with you!" He knows his face is red, but he really couldn't care less. Let his father know that he's fucking pissed.
Henry runs a hand through his thinning hair. "Shawn, I- why do you care so much? You've been sneaking out of the house every night for the past year, and I know that Gus is covering for you on the nights you say you're spending with him. I know you've been drinking. You know why? You're not too discreet about taking from my stash."
Shawn presses his fists into his eyes and starts pacing. "I can't fucking believe you're trying to make this about me now! What about you, you arrogant bastard? You kicked Mom out!"
"Shawn, maybe if you'd been here more, this might have been resolved a little easier."
Shawn looks up sharply. He sets his jaw and his eyes harden. "Maybe if you'd been a better husband and father, this wouldn't have happened."
Henry's eyes flash. "That's not fair."
"It totally is!" Shawn shouts. He knows his voice is too loud, and he knows that he's stepping way out of line, but he doesn't care. "You've never been a good dad to me! You trained me for an unending list of highly unlikely situations, you have humiliated me a dozen and a half times, and you just- you never cared! Not about me, not about Mom, not about anyone but yourself!"
Henry's breaths are labored, and his eyes are on fire, but his voice is calm and steady when he says, "Go to your room, Shawn."
Shawn crosses his arms. "No."
"Fuck, Shawn, just go to your room. I can't do this with you right now."
Shawn hums. "Maybe you shoulda thought about that before you kicked Mom out." He turns and runs up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him. He cranks up his music and sinks to the floor, praying to God that his dad can't hear him crying.