Trouble in the 90's

BMW: "Don't You Dare" (TW galore) (MC's Shawn & Turner)

A/N: this happened in a dream I had. Very f'ed up I must say. Sorry in advance. If you don't like, don't read. Could be triggering or just dumb lol. Big reason I'm writing this is due to my childhood trauma. Needing a catharsis so I don't have further nightmares.

Turner's POV:

So, it's a normal evening, right? Shawn's being lazy as usual—not doing his homework unless I supervise him—and then I find out that he's flunking two of his classes. I'm a damn teacher at his school, and his other teachers didn't bother telling me this until now, towards the end of the year. Now I've gotta really get in Shawn's face about all this. Wish me luck. This always ends well. Not.

Turner found Shawn hibernating in his room, playing his game boy. Turner, out of pure annoyance, snatched it straight from his hands.

"Hey, what the hell? Give it back!" Shawn shot up from his position on the bed and attempted to grab the video game, however Turner was too quick.

"Shawn, no. From now until you get your grades up, everything you find even slightly entertaining will be banned. No games, no girls, no Cory. Get your sorry ass downstairs. We need to have a chat." Turner was way past annoyed by this point, rightly so.

Shawn saw the unwavering look in his legal guardian's eyes and just knew he shouldn't argue. He knew he was busted. It was only a matter of time anyway, and he was only delaying the inevitable. "Yeah, okay, if I don't have a choice," Shawn grumbled.

"Buddy, that 'choice' ship has sailed—completely. C'mon. Let's go." Shawn shuffled pain-stakingly slow, so John pushed him most of the way down the stairs.

"Sit," John ordered, plopping Shawn into the kitchen island stool. "And get used to sitting, 'caus we're gonna be doing a lot of that."

Silence ensued, partly because John wanted to choose his words carefully, and partly because he wanted Shawn to writhe in discomfort for a bit. His disappointed glare didn't help Shawn's comfort level either. He finally broke the silence by sliding the report card across the island.

"So tell me what this is all about." His tone was flat—in an attempt not to blow his top with boiling, fiery anger.

Shawn stared at the two F's and one D on the page. He shrugged.

John pointed at the letters. "No. You know quite well. You've known this whole year, kept it a secret from me. Answer me."

More silence. It was killing the both of them.

"Shawn, why didn't you come to me for help? Why do you refuse to do anything remotely good for you?" His desperate questions laid flatter than the report card– Shawn indifferent to it all. John was growing tired and impatient. He smacked the counter to get his kid's attention. "I'm done. I'm done with your carelessness. I'm done begging you to give a shit about school—about your life. I guess I just have to sit here and force you to do every sheet of homework in my line of sight. 'Caus you won't do anything otherwise."

Shawn shrugged, but he knew Jonathan was right. He just didn't care. And they've been having this battle the entire time Shawn's been living with John—an entire two years. Both were weary from the struggle.

"You know what? Let's start right now. Go get me your homework for tomorrow, and we'll make sure it's done. Right here." John waited for Shawn to move, but instead he remained, staring off into space. "Shawn Patrick. I've had near enough of this. Go."

Shawn stayed. John raged.

His voice carried throughout the apartment. "You have three seconds to grab your homework before I kick your ass! One!"