Okay right now I feel like the world's biggest jerk because I had completely forgotten to upload this chapter when I had written it years ago. I uploaded it on psychfic but then it slipped off my mind.

Sorry!

Chapter 1

A Week Earlier…

Somewhere in Santa Maria

The camera flashed against the lifeless form lying in its pool of red liquid. Forensics brushed at the figure as marked evidence was placed in a bag.

"It's his M.O.," an officer stated solemnly as he turned to an investigator, handing the piece of evidence towards the colleague.

"No doubt about it," the investigator grimly replied as he took a hold of bag and positioned it in his line of vision, his face hardening at object hanging in front of him. "It's his calling card."

"Damn," another officer cursed. "He's back."

"Only this time," the investigator spoke up once more, a mixture of determination and ruthlessness coating his tone, "He won't get away."

xXx

Elsewhere in Santa Barbara beach…

"I'm so booooored!" the young pseudo-psychic wailed in defeat after failing to amuse himself for the fifth time, backside resting on the office floor, back leaning onto his desk while tossing the tennis ball in the opposite direction to then have it bounce back into his grip.

"Then find something else to do, Shawn!" the equally frustrated pharmaceutical salesman remarked as he looked up from the screen of his laptop after the fifth interruption. "Stop bothering me. I keep writing the same sentence!"

Shawn sighed exasperatingly. "That Hutcherson Case was too easy." He lifted himself from the floor and shifted his weight onto his desk. "Either these cases are getting easier or I'm becoming too smart for my own good," he continued, tossing the ball back and forth between his hands.

Gus scrunched his face in scepticism. "No, Shawn, we're just lucky we've been stumbling onto dim-witted criminals lately, which happens to be a good thing by the way."

"Dim-witted? Why don't you just use normal people words, Gus?" the psychic jibed.

"Dim-witted is a common word that everybody uses to undermine the intellectuality of others."

"Yeah…" Shawn nodded, "…from the 18th Century," he quipped, pausing for a brief second, "And Harry Potter."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Shawn. Can you please just let me get on with my work?"

"I just need more of a challenge, you know, Hermione?" he prodded, taking no notice of his best friend's inquiry. "Something…something big. And flashy. And defines my true…" he inwardly searched for the right word as his fingers flailed in the air, "…brainpower!"

"That's it!" Gus promptly lifted from his seat and abrasively slapped his laptop shut as he placed it into his bag.

"Whoa-where you going, buddy?" Shawn stood from his position and paced closer to his agitated partner.

"Somewhere where I don't have to sit here and listen to you complain about the fact that there aren't enough smart criminals in Santa Barbara to help feed your proficiencies! Need I remind you of the last time we came across people like that? Lives, including ours, were put in real jeopardy." He zipped his bag, grabbed his keys and pushed passed an outraged Shawn. "Now if you would excuse me, I've got a real job to attend to."

"But Gus-"

The sound of the door slamming halted Shawn before he managed a response. In that instant, he felt a vibration in his left pocket, followed by the tune of a Funeral March ringtone, Shawn didn't have to be psychic to guess where the incoming call was from.

He sighed tiresomely and placed his backside onto his best friend's desk. "Yo, Dad, wazzup?" Not that he didn't already know, probably a reminder to drop by the house and have him suffer the all-painstaking labour of household errands like he was that 10 year old kid still living in the house.

"Finally!" the gruff voice at the other end of the line growled. "I've been leaving you messages all day, why haven't you been picking up?"

"Sorry, dad, I've been so-very busy today," he lied. "I was solving a case." Well, it wasn't all lies. After all, he did solve a case earlier that morning. His features begun to form a smug expression. "You should be able to read all about it in the newspaper tomorrow."

"Is that so?"

"Yes it is…so," Shawn sighed. "What do you want, dad?"

"Gee, Shawn, it's good to hear from you too," Henry didn't have to be standing next to his son to see the eye-roll trademark. He decided to let it slip and continue, "You were supposed to drop by for dinner an hour ago…"

Wait for it...Shawn thought.

"…and to take your crap from the attic," The phony psychic heard the sound of clattering plates, followed by a flowing stream of water in the background while listening to his father's demands. "Not to mention promising to clean the gutters last week!"

"Oooh," the younger Spencer crumpled his face as he inwardly hissed, "Darn it all!" he lightly clenched his fist and swung it mockingly in the air, "You caught me during a very…very important case."

"I thought you said you just solved a case."

"Oh…yeah, I did. And now I have a new case."

"That quick?" Henry added, sceptically.

Shawn took a hold of the tennis ball he placed onto Gus' desk earlier and began swinging it upward. "I'm on a very hot streak, dad."

Henry sighed, the hint of fury lingering in his prolonged outbreath. "Cut the crap, Shawn. If I had the back for it I'd do the attic and gutters myself. Now would you for once just take some responsibility and help your old man?"

Shawn raised his eyebrows. "Wow, dad, you actually sound desperate,"

"No–I'm not-"

"It's okay-"Shawn continued, tauntingly, "-to admit you can't do it without me. If you really need me, then by all means, ask away." He smiled, waiting for the pleading tone in his father's voice.

"Y'know what? Just forget it, I'll do everything myself."

"Now hold on a minute!" He stood and placed the green ball back onto the desk. "You'd rather strain your back relentlessly than to personally ask for your son's help?"

"What do you want me to say, Shawn?"

The elder Spencer snarled, "Yes. I needyour help. Satisfied?"

The faux Psychic smiled self-contentedly. "Very." His attention shifted towards the clock. "Warm up that steak."

xXx

Henry Spencer disconnected his regretful call and directed his way back towards the fridge. He pushed his hand towards the plastic covered steak, intending to warm it up for his approaching visitor. He disliked giving Shawn that satisfaction of complacency. Why is every call with Shawn always so difficult and ultimately end up with repentance on his part by the end of it? Was it too much to ask to spend some quality time with his only son without losing a part of his dignity every time?

Though in most days, that quality time ends up being shoved back into his face as they would lean into the direction of yet another of their petty disputes. Henry hoped tonight will not end up that way. But it's not up to him. It will depend on what antics his son had pulled within the week that Henry disapproved of; because, ultimately, it's Shawn who gives him the reason to get riled up towards another disagreement.

But not tonight. He just didn't have the energy for it. He spent the past two nights struggling to find a comfortable enough position in his bed that wouldn't pull a muscle in his back.

Henry sighed. He really needed to refill his prescription.

Within an instant, the elder Spencer found himself ceasing, startled from his train of thoughts as the familiar roaring sound of a personally much-hated motorised engine snapped him back into reality.

Stupid death-trap, Henry snarled, visibly scowling at the vehicle through his curtains as if the bike itself was mocking him. He made his way back towards the kitchen as the front door exposed a boisterous pseudo-psychic.

"Yo, Pops," Shawn greeted as he levelled his helmet onto an armchair. He slackened his shoulders and allowed his black leather jacket to drop onto his hands, revealing a long-sleeve white shirt underneath, and then layering it on top of an available seat in the kitchen. Ravenously inhaling the aroma of his father's cooking, Shawn intended to loosely drop onto the chair, only to have Henry pointedly interpose him mid-way.

"Ah-ah-ah," the Elder Spencer started.

"What?"

"You're going to earn your dinner."

Shawn chortled, "What?"

"Whichever task you choose to do first, all the equipment you need will be in the garage."

"You're serious?" When his father displayed no signs of levity he continued, "I can't work on an empty stomach! Besides, it's almost getting dark out," his arm extended towards a window.

"Well then you better hurry." Henry left no room to succumb into his son's inquiries, not this time. Shawn spent a few good seconds stammering in disbelief before finally giving in to his father's demands. "I'll be on the porch," Henry lastly added before making his way outside.

xXx

The elder Spencer fell onto his seat with a triumphal smile. Sighing in content, he admiringly gazed at the sun leisurely setting in the distance while listening to the rustling above his head. He intently took note of the shuffling of soppy leaves as Shawn continued to work. Henry then stood and treaded closer to the ladder upwardly balancing between his front lawn and the roof. Without warning he shoved himself further from the ladder before a pile of a glutinous substance was thrown in his direction, causing it to drop beside his feet.

"Watch it!" Henry irately called out.

"Whoops. Sorry," Shawn light-heartedly replied; clear impenitence lingering in his voice.

The ex-cop ignored his son's playful demeanour and continued, "Clean it thoroughly, Shawn."

"Look, Dad, I don't know if you remember the last time I was up here, but I almost had a skull fracture. So excuse me if I'm not too eager enough to clean it thoroughly. I would like to avoid any casualties this week thank you very much."

"Oh for heaven's sake, stop being such a drama queen. And I told you to use a bag!"

"With what?! I only have two hands!" Shawn countered. "Not to mention this ladder's as stable as Frank Costello's sanity."

Henry rolled his eyes. So much for some simple bonding time. "Well if you spent less time making Jack Nicholson references you'll get this done faster. And the faster you get this done the closer you get to a nice, warm dinner."

Now it was Shawn's turn to eye-roll before continuing on with the task, half-heartedly, humming the theme tune to Magnum PI, incorporating a quick little move with his leg while he swept a particularly heavy pile of leaves. Unfortunately the stellar move on such a rickety ladder left him without something stable beneath his sneakers. He gasped, fumbling for some leverage. Henry caught a glimpse of Shawn's sudden movement and made a quick attempt to grab hold of the ladder before it swayed further.

"Would you be more careful, Shawn?" he called out as his son hugged the ladder for dear life.

"This happens to be a two-man job, dad," Shawn retorted, assuring himself that he was no longer in danger of falling. "Gus had to work today, so whether you like it or not you're stuck with me." He turned his attention back towards the gutter and he mumbled noisily, "Drama queen. Pft."

xXx

Shawn found himself sitting down on the attic's floor several moments later, surrounded by boxes and old pieces of furniture, scuttling through scattered items while sneezing in frustration as the dust brushed at his nostrils. Not a minute later, his father made his way to the attic and discovered he was being securely watched by the elder Spencer while he continued to fumble with boxes.

Shawn broke the incessant silence, "You might wanna take it easy on the laser rays, the two holes at the back of my head are starting to burn."

Henry raised his hands in surrender, "Hey I just want to make sure you don't get this job done half-assed like you did with the gutters."

"I told you it was getting dark!"

"Wasn't my fault you were an hour late."

Shawn huffed exasperatingly, "Yeah well it might be easier if you labelled half these boxes." He rummaged through an unbranded box. "What is all this stuff anyway? Multiple Electric Vibrator? Wonder Sauna Hot Pants? Really, dad?" He pulled out a small rectangular item, "Egg Cuber? For the love of all things Judd Nelson, why do you have this?!"

"As it happens the electric vibrator is not mine, it was your mother's. A wedding gift from her mother."

"Wha-what is it exactly for?" He gawked at the strange-shaped item.

"It's supposed to massage the scalp," Henry scoffed.

Shawn lifted his eyebrows. "Ohhhhhh…" He felt a sudden odd wave of relief wash over him before continuing the task at hand. "I'm actually afraid to ask about the rest," Shawn half-quipped when he took out what seemed to look like a petrol can; twisting for the label he read, "What's this…wolf uri-AHhhn!" he wincingly dropped the item within that split second.

"Be careful, Shawn, I don't want it dripping." Henry picked up the can and placed it back into the box. The younger Spencer stammered in disbelief anticipating for a plausible explanation. "Look let's just say I had a pest problem back in '98. So I decided to take whatever measures to…to fix it."

"With wolf urine?!" his son's face creased with revulsion.

Henry rolled his eyes. "I did what I had to do. Look, Shawn, I told you about this awhile back."

"I thought you were kidding!" His father gave him a look but that didn't stop the younger man from pursuing the topic. "You live nearside the beach! What possible wildlife do you think would roam in the vicinity?"

"Not for the house, you idiot, that cabin I used to hitchhike to for some vacation time."

Shawn's eyebrows creased in confusion, "You owned a cabin?"

Henry's lips parted with incredulity, "Shawn do you have to shut out everything I say to you?" Before the younger Spencer could respond Henry took notice of the time from reading his watch, "Nevermind. We've wasted enough time." He placed the items back into the box and lifted himself cautiously while groaning in discomfort. "Finish up and come down. I'll warm up your food."

"Gladly," Shawn replied, still inwardly shuddering in revolt. "And don't expect me to ever come up here again."

A minute passed by when the phony psychic managed to place his wanted items in an empty box, pick it up and gradually carry it closer to the door. Then without warning Shawn felt himself stumbling beneath his stroll as his foot abruptly wrapped itself around a chair leg, sending his box of items flying a few feet above the air and him sprawling onto the wooden floor after his attempt in balancing his misstep had his forehead grazing against a pointed end of a shelf. He felt a heavy pile of sheets collide onto his back within an instant.

"Ow…" Shawn grumbled at the sudden ache developing and decided to lift his hand to his forehead in hopes of easing the pain with strokes. However, he found himself halting mid-way when his eyes gleaned over the sheets that slid down his back when he sat up a second earlier. Momentarily forgetting the headache, his mind reflexively garnered the information printed on the documents and cut-out articles as he placed every sheet on top of each other before sloppily positioning them back on the shelf.

"Shawn!" He heard his father yell downstairs. The private detective gathered his items back into a box and prudently ambled out of the attic, stopping every few seconds while he waited for the waves of nausea to wash over him. Once he sauntered into the living room, he carelessly dropped the box onto an armchair and made his way to the kitchen, facing his father's back while he awaited his appetising reward.

Hearing someone pull out a chair from behind him, Henry made a start, "What was all that ruckus abou-" he paused when he took in his son's appearance, noticing a cut above his left eyebrow while he placed an innocent look on his face. Rolling his eyes, the elder Spencer sighed as his hands dug into a cabinet below, reaching for his first-aid kit. "Why can't you ever do something simple without causing a scene?"

"What? What did I do now?" Shawn whined questioningly, making him sound like he was fifteen again without realising it. It's just something about this house that brings back Shawn's bitching days as a teenager.

Henry took a chair and placed it in front of his son so he can face the minor injury, "What happened to your head?"

"Hm?" a question formed at Shawn's lips as his hand absentmindedly reached his forehead, wincing as he felt a slight stream of sticky liquid.

"Don't play with it." Henry unwrapped a packet of alcohol swabs.

"Play with it? What am I, eight?" When his father shot him an amused look Shawn cut him off before he could respond, "Don't answer that –OW!" the younger man flinched away when he felt a sting of pain brush at his forehead.

"Hold still, Shawn," Henry added, frustrated.

"And for the record, didn't I say I'd end up with a skull fracture? Didn't. I. Say?"

Ignoring his son's remarks, Henry continued to wipe the cut clean. "There." He finished by placing a small head plaster over the minor injury. "Now wash up."

xXx

Shawn sliced through the piece of meat centred on his plate and placed a portion in his mouth while his father sat across the table with a firm expression, unmoved and arms crossed, as he watched his son chew.

"If you have something to say, say it, before you burn two more holes in my forehead," The pseudo-psychic spoke without lifting his attention from the dish, "Because I'm telling you now, four gaping fissures in my head can do a number on my skull." Henry scowled as he uncrossed his arms and remained silent. "Dad?" Shawn pondered irately, "I know you're retired but I'm sure you have more interesting ways to occupy yourself with than to watch your son wolf down a steak." He paused for a moment, fumbling over his last comment. "Okay, bad choice of words. Point is…go play with your boat model or something. Or better yet go watch that episode of Night Court you TiVo'd the other day."

"Wait a minute, how do you know I TiV-" Henry paused for a split second, gaining back a more controlled voice, "You were supposed to return that spare key two weeks ago, Shawn. And stop rummaging through my house when I'm not here. I know it was you who took the rest of that pineapple cake."

"You can't prove that!" Shawn retorted, almost too quickly.

Henry flailed his arms, "It doesn't matter. Besides, it wasn't even that good. The almond left a bitter aftertaste."

Shawn gasped mockingly, "Take that back! The almond flavour balanced the sweet sugary taste of-" he held his tongue, staring at his old man who had raised an eyebrow and watched a corner of his lips rise, once he realised he had fallen into one of his father's traps.

"Hm," Shawn pursed his lips in discomfiture before returning to finishing his meal. His father held out his hand, elbow resting on the table, for a minute before the young Spencer rolled his eyes and sighed, giving into the insistent request. Digging into his coat pocket hanging just below his thigh as the leather jacket lay behind him, Shawn took a hold of the minuscule object and cuffed it onto his father's exposed hand.

"Thank you," Henry responded, though with less appreciation within the gratitude. He then got up and removed the plate once Shawn wiped his lips with a tissue and tossed it onto the platter. Henry made his way to the sink.

"I should get going," Shawn bluntly added, tone coloured with more fatigue than intended. He swerved the jacket previously sitting in the chair around his torso.

"Oh come on, Shawn, you just got here," the elder Spencer replied, voiced laced with pleading disappointment.

"What're you talking about? I've been here for two hours. Much longer than our usual come-eat-fight routine, with the addional bonus of manual labour," Shawn sarcastically conluded.

"At least stay for another hour or until the Thunderbirds game ends," Henry brushed at the plate beneath the lukewarm water.

Shawn sighs heavily while unenthusiastically adding, "Fine."

The ex-cop frowned. Once he placed the plate into a cabinet above he reached for a cloth and began drying the counter, letting his mind wander for several seconds.

Watching those games with his son were the only memories of attachment not associated with conflict. They were the only moments where they truly connected, and it never resorted to fighting, no matter what they said during the entire game. It was the one thing they agreed on. Usually asking Shawn to watch a game with him never once had him refuse the offer, earning Henry some true quality time with his only child. And having Shawn half-heartedly respond to an evening with his old man watching a Thunderbirds game almost tore a piece of him. The last thing he needed was to push further away from his son when all he wanted was to make the connection they once had many years ago. Not when he finally got a second chance to turn things around.

But despite the reluctance, Shawn still agreed to stay. And that was enough for him.

Once Henry made his way to the sofa he took a seat next to Shawn. "Pass me a beer?" the younger man asked.

"Aren't you supposed to be driving back?"

"C'mon on, dad, it's just one beer."

"No, Shawn," Henry stated firmly as his tone insinuated a clear proclamation of 'this isn't open for discussion'. When his son didn't make a comeback he continued, "It's bad enough you have to drive in that thing, but I will not have you drive under the influence of alcohol, especially with that injury," his finger loomed in the air as it hovered over the subject matter. He watched the younger Spencer rub at his forehead. "Not to mention, you get tipsy from just the one drink."

"Y'know what? Forget I asked!" Shawn shot back, continuing to caress absently at his temple while silently querying his decision to stay when he knew his headache would only get worse with his father around. The next sound that tore away the stillness in the air was the crowd cheering in the stadium as Thunderbirds scored a touchdown.

"Hmm not bad," Henry smiled while taking a sip of his bottled bear. "He's no Sammy Winslow but at least he gets the job done."

"And that he doesn't throw any picks," Shawn added, grinning to himself while his mind wandered with reminiscence. Henry glanced sideways as his smile reached his ears, upon realising that maybe, just maybe, he won't lose this connection after all. At least not today.

Yup, Henry thought continuously smirking to himself, it never fails.

Henry was snapped out of his thoughts when a voice beside him spoke up, "If you keep grinning any longer your face will become permanently frozen like that. To which it would bring a whole new twist to who owns the clown label in the family. But I must warn you, I will fight you for that title."

Henry's expression immediately faltered in response, and it bothers him that he can't tell whether his son was being serious or not. Turning his face to make a comeback, he stopped when he noticed Shawn gently stroking his temple once more. Concern etched over the elder Spencer's face and he decided to stand from his seat and make his way to the kitchen. He fumbled over the first-aid kit for the second time today and reached for an ibuprofen packet.

Shawn overheard some shuffling behind him but all he could focus was on the throbbing ache mounting in his head.

"Here." Shawn looked up tiredly as he saw two hands hovering a few inches opposite his chin, one holding what Shawn assumes is a painkiller tablet and the other a glass of water.

He shook his head, "I don't need-"

"Take it, Shawn," His father stated sternly, evidently not backing off until the younger man gives in. The faux psychic grudgingly takes the tablet with a mumbled 'thanks' when he realised he was too exhausted to decline before tilting his head backwards and taking the offered drink to swallow down the tablet.

It was several minutes and eight more touchdowns later when Henry no longer heard a single comment or any cheering from his obnoxious son and turned to find Shawn's head lolling sideways on chest, his back slumped on the couch and a peaceful expression engraved on his face. Switching off his television, Henry sighed and contemplated for a couple of seconds to whether shake him awake and notify him that the game is over. He would have to call Gus for a ride because, truthfully, Henry wasn't really going to let Shawn drive tonight either way.

But instead, he decided to lay his sleeping child down on the sofa and gently drape a blanket over him.

Henry observed the serene look on Shawn's face as it brought back an image of a much younger Shawn falling asleep while watching a marathon of Cops with his old man. Has it really been that long? Henry wondered.

Shawn continued to lay motionless. For someone who had more energy than a stimulated chimpanzee, he sure looked dead to the world when he fell into slumber. At the same time, Henry felt a slight pang of jealousy as he watched him snooze calmly, realising he couldn't remember the last time he had a wink of peaceful rest without having his back acting up.

His attention drew back to the unmoving form. What does he dream about that keeps him so still at night anyway?

The sentimental smile outlining Henry's face soon transformed into a tranquil, poignant chuckle, I'll never understand what goes through that head of yours, kid. He stood watching his son softly, almost inaudibly, exhale for a few more seconds before striding across the room, turning off the lights, and heading up the stairs to prepare himself for a long night of strained sleep.

TBC

I had a hard time keeping the interactions between each character as close to the dynamic of the show as possible. That being said let me know if there's something I need to improve on (since it's my first Psych fic after all) :)

For those who are curious about the items in the attic – as it happens, people actually buy wolf urine from amazon nowadays. And it's one of the most bizarre things to own.

And just so you know, American Football games are unknown territory for me (especially since I'm from London). So all my "Thunderbirds" and game strategies knowledge comes from the Season 3 episode "Any Given Friday".

Anyways, you know the drill.

Mrs-N-Uzumaki xx