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It's dark outside.
The night sky is obscured by a searchlight mounted on a police vehicle and the red and blue strobes take the place of stars. They illuminate the surrounding area with dazzling and distracting light, emphasizing the sight before them. Henry pays it no mind as he stands there, poised beside Lassiter. The former has his shiny new badge clipped to his belt and his issued handgun pointed at his only child.
Henry can hardly breathe and it's a damn miracle his hands aren't shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lassiter's hands trembling but the younger man's face is set and grim. In the middle of the street, a few yards ahead is Shawn.
His leather jacket is streaked with blood along with the Apple Jack's shirt underneath and Henry's heart clenches at the sight. Shawn's hands are raised halfway; the hunting knife Juliet gave him for their first Christmas together is clutched in his right hand, slick with blood. It runs down Shawn's exposed wrist and under his jacket sleeve.
The kicker is that Shawn looks dazed and a little frightened. His nose looks like it has been broken more than once recently and his black-ringed hazel eyes are wide and bright. It hurts Henry to look at his son. Foolishly, he has kept this delusion that when he found Shawn he would look like he always did, Shawn would be normal, and they would be okay.
Henry realizes too late that will never happen. He almost breaks when the blood on the knife collects enough to drip on the ground. Strangely, it's Lassiter's voice that helps keep Henry grounded.
"Put the knife down, Spencer." Lassiter calls loud enough to be heard over the vehicles but no louder.
Behind the door of the patrol car stopped adjacent to Lassiter's, is Buzz. His weapon is drawn but the poor kid looks unsure of whether he should use it or not. Henry turns his attention back to Shawn as the latter shifts on his feet.
Shawn's arms slowly lower, though he makes no move to relinquish the knife and Henry feels dread weigh him down.
"I can't do that, Lassie." Shawn's cracked voice drifts over. He almost looks sorry, maybe even a little ashamed.
"Spencer!" Lassiter barks, finding some reservoir of anger to tap into, "Drop the knife and get on the ground!"
Shawn smiles, it's faint and sad, it almost makes Henry drop his gun.
"I can't." Henry has to strain to hear Shawn and he can sense Lassiter preparing to shout another demand.
"Shawn." Henry keeps his voice level as he speaks and his eyes focused solely on Shawn, "Put the knife down."
Shawn looks like he's about ready to cry as he returns Henry's gaze. His head is already shaking before he speaks again in that frail and frightened voice,
"I can't."
Henry closes his eyes briefly, he can't either. He can't look at his boy when he or Lassiter pull the trigger. He can't ignore the burning badge on his hip either and Henry takes an unsteady breath as he prepares for the inevitable.
Shawn beats them all to the punch and a shot clips Lassiter in the shoulder. Henry instinctively fires. At the same moment, a shot from a higher angle pierces the windshield of Lassiter's car and Buzz drops his gun as another shot pops the front tire of the patrol car.
Henry drops behind the open car door and is secretly relieved to see Shawn running towards an alley with only a graze on his side. The relief dies when Lassiter sends a parting shot and it catches Shawn in the leg.
Neither sees if he goes down or not as a third shot from the unknown shooter takes out the back tire on Lassiter's car. The latter makes an irritated noise and moves to chase after Shawn when a fourth shot catches him in the shoulder just under the collarbone.
Blood sprays the side of the car as Lassiter falls and Henry drags him behind the relative safety behind the car door. He's sure the sniper can see them but no more shots come and sirens wail in the distance. Henry makes no move to check on Buzz or go after Shawn. Instead, he sits there with Lassiter semi-conscious half on his lap and keeps the head detective from bleeding out. And in the back of his head, he hopes Shawn gets away.
_______________
Eliot finds himself creeping through the shadows of the alleyway. There's no one around and no cameras mounted in the alley but Eliot is taking every precaution. He's being a damn idiot.
His feet keep him going forward despite all the arguments raging in his head telling him he shouldn't be here and that this will be the death of him. After everything Eliot has done to clear himself of past sins, to redeem himself, has all been wiped away in a rash moment. Each shot he took ensured there would be no return, not ever. Oddly enough, he thinks that's okay.
There isn't a real reason why he's going out of his way, killing himself essentially, for the man who just a few days ago beat him senseless. The man who was family. The only one who knew Eliot, the one who had been there whenever he'd asked. This is stupid, Eliot thought bitterly, but without regret. He was always doing the wrong things for the right reasons.
Scuffling footsteps alerted Eliot and he pulls to a stop, listening. The gun case in his hand felt heavy, bulky, and there was no way of concealing it. Leaving it would seal his fate.
Fortunately, the footsteps belonged to Shawn and Eliot steps out of the shadows. The hitter was more than a little satisfied at Shawn flinching and recoiling as Eliot reached out and pulled on his sleeve.
"C'mon." Eliot says curtly, leading the way. Shawn follows quietly, barely resisting the iron grip on his arm. Eliot can feel his eyes glued to him and the mix of apprehension and remorse exuding from his cousin.
"Where are we going?" Shawn asks after they have cleared a couple of blocks. Eliot still has his hand locked onto Shawn's wrist, afraid his cousin will take the opportunity to bail.
"Where do you think?" Eliot shoots back gruffly.
"To my execution?" Shawn guesses with an edge of hysterical laughter in his voice.
"Possibly." Eliot returns quietly because even in such a dire situation he can't pass up the chance to mess with Shawn. He does deserve it after all.
“Oh.” Is Shawn’s response. His voice sounds so frail it sends Eliot back to when Shawn was eighteen and trying not to cry as he told Eliot his dad had arrested him. Way back then when Shawn thought he would be a better detective than his dad and Eliot was going to come back with medals decorating his uniform. Now, they were here, so very far on the wrong side of the law.
Eliot shoves those thoughts down and focuses on getting them the hell out of there. He can hear sirens in the distance and it won’t be long before someone catches up to them if they remain on foot. Fortunately, Eliot has thought far enough ahead to have a vehicle nearby. It’s nothing grand, an old ‘96 Dodge pickup he had used on his last gig. Hesitantly, Eliot lets go of Shawn’s arm to allow him to get in the pickup. The hitter relaxes marginally as his cousin gets in without question and Eliot stows his gun case in the truck bed, covering it with the edge of a tarp.
He has no idea where he’s going as he starts the engine. The deep rumble of the pickup helps to block out the nearing sirens and the vibration of the vehicle calms him. Shawn is buckled up in the passenger seat and looks for all the world like a man headed for the gallows. Which, Eliot supposes he is, but that’s not happening tonight.
“Are you going to kill me?” Shawn asks quietly as they pull away from the curb.
Eliot thinks for a moment. Of course, the answer is no. He would’ve done that earlier when he had Shawn in his sights if that had been his intention. “Suppose not.”
“Then why?” Shawn shifts in his seat, “Why help me now?”
Yeah, that would be the million-dollar question, wouldn’t it? Eliot mused. He could list a lot of different reasons; because he understood Shawn’s motive, because he owed Shawn, because he really was going to kill Shawn later. Which wasn’t altogether off the table- Eliot was still sporting bruises and wasn’t happy about it. But, the bare truth of it, whether Eliot said it aloud or not, was that Shawn was the closest thing Eliot had to a brother. For someone like Eliot that was worth dying over.
“Someone had to save your sorry ass.” Eliot finally answers, staring through the windshield at the empty road before them. The city lights fade behind them and silence fully envelops them before Shawn breaks it with a simple,
“Thank you.”
There is sincerity in those two words and Eliot nods in acknowledgment. Neither can go back and undo the harm they’ve done, to each other and to those around them, they can go forward though. Into the night on a barren road to a bleak future where all they have are broken dreams and the could-have-beens.