Chapter Text
'Break in the case, meet me at your apartment - Spencer’
That single message was enough to get Lassiter up and off of Spencer Sr.’s couch and out the door. He raced to the car, barely giving the uncharacteristic text from Shawn a second thought.
This was the news that he’d been waiting for, and he couldn’t believe it was coming from Spencer . Of all the people Carlton thought would’ve been the most help on his case, he didn’t think it would be coming from Shawn . He would’ve hoped that O’Hara would’ve been some help, but she’d already moved on with a new partner, the one that he upstaged by actually arresting Chavez.
Going well over the speed limit, Lassie raced over to his house to see what Shawn had ‘divined’ about his case. Once he arrived at his residence, he noticed a car in his driveway. As far as he knew, Spencer didn’t drive a car, but he was too enticed at the prospect of a break in the case to care.
He walked in his house, and was met with an empty living room. While it wasn’t uncommon for Shawn to go all out for his wrap ups, Lassiter was already low on patience.
“Spencer?!” He called out into his house. When the only response he was met with was his echo, he tried again. “Shawn?! Are you here?” As weird as it was for Lassiter to use Shawn’s real name, it seemed to gain him a small response. From further into the house, he could hear a faint whimper that was quickly cut off. Straining to hear more, Lassiter could hear his shower head spewing water. “Spencer! You better not be taking a shower in my house!”
He stormed over to his bathroom and found the light on. Moving in with silent footsteps, he surveyed the scene. A green striped shirt was crumpled up in the corner, and his showerhead was shooting water into his seemingly empty tub. If alarm bells weren’t already going off in his head, seeing the faintest smear of blood on his bathtub rim certainly didn’t help.
Lassie quietly whispered, “Spencer?” as he moved further into the bathroom, instinctively reaching towards his holster before he remembered that it was, in fact, empty. As he crept forward, he was able to hear rapid breaths coming from his tub.
He slowly reached towards the curtain and pulled it open as fast as he could. His gaze fell into the tub and immediately caused him to panic. Shawn was shaking and laying on his back in his tub, with his wrists cuffed behind him. He was blindfolded by one of Lassier’s favorite ties, and had duct tape over his mouth. Lassiter briefly shifted his focus from Shawn’s body to the shower settings, and found that it was set to the coldest water it could, and sprayed directly on Spencer’s bare chest. That would explain why he was shaking so much.
Apparently sensing Lassie’s presence, Shawn started frantically shaking his head in an effort to get Lassiter to leave. Ignoring his pleas, Lassiter moved to turn off the freezing water and remove the tape and tie.
“Spencer. What the hell?”
Shawn was shivering too much to structure words properly, but was eventually able to push out “T-tra-trap.”
Before the words could properly process in Lassiter’s mind, he felt cool metal press against the back of his neck. “Hands where I can see them, detective.” He didn’t have to turn around to know who was speaking. Drimmer, Juliet’s new partner.
Dropping the tie and duct tape on the ground, Lassie’s face contorted into a grimace as he raised his arms. His eyes never left Shawn, and Shawn’s never left him, both having an unspoken conversation that could be summarized as Carlton apologizing for getting him wrapped up in this, and Spencer telling him to shut up.
“Why?” was all Lassiter could squeeze out, both due to anger and fear. Not fear for himself, obviously. He’d had guns pointed at him countless times. He was afraid of what Drimmer might do to Spencer. If Drimmer wanted him dead, he could have shot him when he was focused on the water. Considering the state that Lassie found Shawn in, it’s safe to say that he’s not above using pain for kicks.
Shawn was still lying in the bathtub, not quite able to move yet. When Drimmer just stared at him with a creepy look in his eyes, Shawn answered Lassiter’s question. “He-he’s on- C-Cinco-co Reyes’s pay-payroll.”
While Lassiter was processing, Drimmer spoke. “Enough chit-chat. Get up.” Carlton slowly stood from where he was, cautious not to provoke Drimmer into pulling the trigger, or worse, take it out on Shawn.
Lassiter was guided out the door, so now they were both facing away from Shawn. Seizing the opportunity, Lassiter bit, “I always knew there was something off about you, Drimmer, but I didn’t figure you for dirty.”
He heard a chuckle behind him as they slowly approached the doorway to the living room. Drimmer shouted back to Shawn, “I trust you’ll stay in the tub until you’re retrieved.” Despite being phrased like a statement, everyone in the room could comprehend that it was nothing but a warning and a threat.
Lassiter didn’t hear Shawn’s response, but figured it was an affirmative as he felt the gun on his neck quickly bob up and down twice, indicating for him to move forward and out the door.
Once outside the bathroom, Drimmer used the gun to motion Lassiter over to an office chair. Seeing no other option, Carlton obediently sat down. While he couldn’t see where Drimmer was, he took the opportunity to take stock of his surroundings.
He was in a chair in the middle of his own living room, with Spencer tied up in the bathroom tub. Drimmer was dirty, and probably planned on killing one or both of them in a painful and gruesome way. Shawn had already been at least partially tortured. And, most hopeless of all, no one even knew they were there.
Lassie was pulled from his thoughts by the feeling of his arms being duct taped to the back of his desk chair. It almost felt like adding insult to injury, the fact that he was in his house, being tied down to his chair, having someone he’d (almost) call his friend tied up and tortured in his tub.
Once the detective’s arms were securely tied behind his back, Drimmer began to walk away. Taking the opportunity, Lassiter spoke, “You are one lowlife scum-sucking bastard, aren’t you?”
Drimmer turned around, and Lassie could almost swear he saw him smile . “I know how this works, Lassiter. You’re trying to throw me off with one of your stupid little insults. Uh-uh.” He turned with a flourish and stalked back to the bathroom.
Lassiter had taken pride in how calmly he’d been handling the situation thus far, but he nearly lost his composure when he heard a small whimper come from the bathroom. After some sounds of a struggle and metal clanging, he heard the tub start dispensing water again.
A few moments later, Drimmer was dragging a thoroughly soaked Spencer by the hair into the living room. Shawn was no longer cuffed, but he was still too weak to try anything. Drimmer dumped Shawn on the ground and circled him to get to the coffee table, where he dropped a pen and paper. “Well, fellas, might as well get on with it.”
Lassiter tried to see around Drimmer, but he still couldn’t clearly make out what was on his table. “What’s that?”
Drimmer smiled and turned. “That’s your suicide note.”
Had Shawn had more energy, he probably would’ve laughed at the statement, and Carlton could tell he made an effort, but at this point, he was just counting the fact that Spencer was awake as a win. He’d gotten himself off his stomach and propped up on his elbows, still shaking violently, and desperately trying to draw air into his lungs.
Circling Spencer and Lassiter, Drimmer continued his explanation. “It explains how Spencer psychically figured out that it was you-”
Drawing on all the strength he could, Shawn did his best to annoy Drimmer. “I bel-believe the t-term you’re looking for is-is ‘divined.’” Drimmer’s creepy grin fell, and he quickly ran over and didn’t hold back when he kicked Shawn square in the ribs, earning him a pained scream as a reward for his efforts. Shawn fell from his elbows to his chest, and moved to clutch his ribs while Drimmer continued.
“Spencer divined that it was you who killed Chavez and Loggins and he was going to go to the Chief with it, so you got mad and beat Shawn to death. You two being former lovers and all, you were overwhelmed with guilt.” Drimmer made eye contact with Carlton to read his reaction, and seemed to like his response.
Still clutching his ribs, Shawn angrily questioned, “Former lovers, really!?”
Maintaining a forced glare towards Drimmer, Lassiter answered. “It’s called misinformation. He’s hoping they won’t look too closely.” Drimmer grinned again. “You are one sick twist, Drimmer.”
Drimmer grinned wider, and possibly creepier too, “I know.” He snapped on some gloves, moved behind the kitchen island to a duffel bag, and pulled out a metal baseball bat. How Lassiter didn’t notice the bag before was beyond him, but it was too late to do anything about it now.
No amount of police training could’ve prepared Lassiter for hearing the sickening shriek Shawn made when the bat first made contact with his ribs. He was sure his neighbors heard it, and he was also sure that he’d never stop hearing it. He was also screaming, begging Drimmer to stop to no avail.
Drimmer was going to town on Shawn, hitting him with the bat anyplace he could: ribs, arms, hands, back, hips, legs, ankles, etc. Lassiter was having a hard time watching, but couldn’t bring himself to look away. Eventually, Spencer’s screaming died down to small whines and grunts. Taking this as a sign to take a break, Drimmer dropped the bat, wiped his forehead, and moved back into the bathroom to turn off the tub.
During Drimmer’s brief absence, Lassiter tried to get Shawn’s attention. “Spencer...?” No reaction. “Spencer?” No reaction. “Shawn!” Small reaction. He twitched and made an effort to lift his head before his attempt was quickly abandoned as he decided to use his energy for more important things, like remembering to breathe or knowing which way was up.
Drimmer came back in and went straight for his bag, rummaging around and making small talk. “Ya know, Lassiter, everything was going perfectly. I was working with Chavez, I was on his payroll, I was head of the Gang Unit. I just... can’t have the two of you messing that up for me. Not now. I’ve already killed twice on my little venture for silence. Two more bodies shouldn’t make a difference.”
He pulled out a cattle prod.
Lassiter struggled against his bonds, for what he was sure was not the first time that night, but to no avail. Drimmer just grinned and paced over to where Shawn lay mostly unconscious on the floor. He roughly poked Spencer with the tip of his shoe, and smiled when Shawn instinctively recoiled.
“Wakey, wakey, Shawny boy.” Drimmer jabbed the cattle prod into Shawn’s side, ripping yet another scream from his throat. Lassiter felt like he was going to be sick.
The routine went on for a little while longer, with Drimmer poking Spencer, and Spencer screaming. If Lassiter wasn’t completely biased on the situation, he would’ve assumed that Drimmer was actually enjoying what he was doing to Spencer, as his creepy smirk got wider and wider with each scream.
Drimmer briefly looked out the front window, before muttering, “Crap... one out of two’s not bad...” and roughly grabbing Shawn by the hair and dragging him to the bathroom. Lassiter couldn’t see what Drimmer saw, but he knew that it scared him. He was struggling to get out of his chair. He was struggling to look at what was happening. He was struggling to move.
He was struggling.
It wasn’t until he heard the sound of something big splashing in a tub full of water that he was able to briefly understand where Shawn was at this point. Drimmer threw Shawn in the tub full of water. That didn’t do his conscience many favors though, as the last time he’d seen Spencer, he was barely conscious, so it was safe to assume that he wasn’t going to be doing the backstroke anytime soon.
Silence filled the house, with Lassiter unable to call out to Shawn as his voice was still hoarse from screaming alongside Spencer.
Eventually, however, he saw what had scared Drimmer so badly. Juliet, Gus, Henry, and a few officers broke down the door with guns drawn. Juliet quickly surveyed the scene and ran to her partner’s side, while Gus and Henry just looked around wide-eyed.
“Carlton! What happened?” Juliet was kneeling behind him and cutting through the duct tape around his wrists.
Speaking as quickly as he could, Lassie summarized. “Drimmer’s dirty. Tortured Spencer. He’s in the bathroom.”
Henry was already moving by the time Juliet’s brain caught up with her ears. Juliet started helping Carlton up off the chair, as his legs were asleep, and answered his unspoken worry. “Don’t worry, partner. We tracked his phone and pieced things together on the way here. We caught Drimmer trying to escape the scene with blood on his boots. He’s already on his way back to the station in cuffs.”
The pair arrived at the bathroom moments later, with Gus trailing behind them. The detectives ran in as soon as Henry had reached the tub of freezing, pink-tinted water and saw his son inside. Without a second thought, Henry plunged his hands into the water and found something to grab on to. Evidently, Shawn’s hair.
Henry dragged up his mostly limp son so his head was above water. “Aw, geez.” Spencer’s eyes were closed, and he looked incredibly pale. His nose was red and his lips were blue. Something about him just seemed... off .
The whole room sat in silence for a split second, before Lassiter’s feet woke up and carried him over to the tub. He wordlessly reached in and grabbed Shawn’s feet, and Henry got the message and grabbed Shawn by the shoulders before they worked together to hoist him out of the tub and lay him on the ground.
“Is he breathing?” Juliet sounded concerned. She ran up to Shawn and gripped him by the hand while simultaneously feeling for a pulse. Henry put his hand below Shawn’s nose, feeling for any air movement while Lassiter watched his chest.
After a tense moment, Henry exclaimed, “It’s faint, but it’s there." They all breathed a sigh of relief. Henry glanced towards Lassiter for a brief second before turning back to his son, although still speaking to Lassiter. “Do you have any blankets? He’s freezing.”
Lassiter nodded and looked up at Gus, who was still lingering in the doorway. “Yeah. Just down the hall, first door on your right. Just rip ‘em straight off the bed.” Gus bolted down the hall, not saying a word. Juliet quickly radioed the Chief and gave her an update as well as requested medics.
With seemingly nothing else to do, they all waited. Gus came back a few moments later carrying a bundle of blankets from off Lassiter’s bed. The group worked together to wrap Shawn up as best they could, while Juliet refused to let go of his hand. Once Shawn was bundled up, they worked to move him to lay on his side in the recovery position.
Once Shawn was as comfortable as possible, Henry turned to Lassie. “What the hell happened?”
Lassiter sighed and looked down to meet Shawn’s face, who was still unconscious. “Well, I was lying on your couch watching Cops, when I got a text from Spencer’s phone telling me that there was a break in the case and to meet him at my house. I came over and didn't find anything until I heard the shower running. I came in here to find Shawn tied down to the tub with the shower head spraying him as cold as it could go. Drimmer came up behind me and tied me to the chair before filling up the tub and dragging Shawn to the living room, where he beat him with a baseball bat and tased him with a cattle prod. Then, you guys showed up and Drimmer threw him back in, saying something about ‘one out of two’s not bad’.”
A thick silence filled the room. It lingered for a while, heavy and foreboding.
The silence was quickly stripped away by the sound of EMTs and Paramedics running down the hallway to the bathroom. They immediately assessed the situation, and everyone got out of their way except for Juliet, who still refused to let go of Shawn’s hand. One of the paramedics gave Shawn an oxygen mask, while another checked his ribs for any damage, as that was where most of the damage was sustained. Once they seemed to have gotten everything, wrapping Shawn back up in the blanket with a wrist splint, a paramedic stood up.
The paramedic of the team turned to face the group after they finished their tests. “Well, he has hypothermia, a few bruised ribs, and a partially dislocated wrist. We’ve already set his wrist back and given him a splint, so as long as he keeps it on, he should be fine. The most pressing issues are either the bruised ribs or the potentially inhaled water. We’ve done as many checks as we could on the water situation and have pretty much ruled out the possibility of dry drowning. His ribs will be sensitive and in pain for a while, but that should eventually fade. Ibuprofen will be his friend, unless he wants to head to the hospital and get a prescription. However, I don’t know if the hospital would be able to do much more than that.”
Henry stepped forward towards the paramedic. “That’ll probably be a ‘no’ on the hospital. He hates hospitals.”
The paramedic smiled. “Alright. Sounds good. If he experiences any breathing issues or unbearable pain, don't hesitate to send him to the hospital. I’d recommend he stay with someone for the next few nights just to monitor him.” The medical team all stood, grabbing their bags, and left the bathroom.
Sometime during the bustle, Shawn had regained consciousness and was gripping Juliet’s hand, as it was probably his only lifeline. Once the medics backed away, however, Henry was right back at Shawn’s side.
“Hey, kid. You alright?” Henry put a comforting hand under Shawn's neck in an attempt to hold his head up.
“C-cold.” Shawn looked up at his father and cracked a smile, all the while gripping Juliet’s hand.
Henry chuckled, “Yeah. That’s to be expected. But, the doctor said you don’t have to go to the hospital.” Henry smiled at his son, who put in more effort to smile back.
“Tha-That’s a re-relief. Ha-hate hospit-pitals.” Shawn forced a chuckle, and immediately regretted his decision when his laugh disturbed his ribs.
Gus moved forward and knelt next to Shawn, resting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. Gus gave Shawn a concerned look, and Shawn lolled his head over to look at his friend. Shawn smiled at him, and Gus relaxed despite realizing just how much effort Shawn was putting in to appear normal.
Henry spoke again, “But, I don’t think you should be alone right now. My couch is always open, and I’m not letting you say no.” Henry moved his hand to ruffle Shawn’s hair.
Shawn’s shivering had gone down at this point, and he was able to form more complete words, although he still sounded weak and tired. “Much as I appreciate the sentiment, your couch isn’t open.” Henry gave his son a confused look. Shawn rolled his eyes and answered the silent question, “Lassie’s still staying on the couch, remember?”
Henry sighed. “Right. But, we do still have your childhood room, and I really want you with me for the next few days. Okay?”
Shawn rolled his eyes. “Fine. I know you’re not letting me say no, but is it possible for me to get a raincheck?”
“I could just call the EMTs back in here and have them give you a ride to the hospital, if that’s what you want.”
“My old room sounds great.”