The case was closed, the girl had been saved. Shawn had even managed to convince Juliet to get off of desk duty. Anyway he looked at it, the case had ended successfully. He should be celebrating, but he couldn't get his father's words out of his head.

“There's still two eggs you haven't found.”

It was stupid, really. He had completed every other challenge his father had set for him growing up and had solved every case assigned to him by the SBPD (along with several case he hadn't been given). It shouldn't matter so much that he had missed two Easter eggs when he was eight years old.

Yet it did, so here he was on a Sunday morning, staring up at his childhood home. Henry was out with a bunch of his fishing buddies today. His father had tried to drag him along, but he had refused on the grounds that Sunday was for lazing around and relaxing, not being stuck on a smelly boat bored out of his mind. Now, though, he was going to use the time to find the missing eggs before his father came home.

He slowly turned in a circle and surveyed the yard. His father always hid the eggs outside the house, somewhere on the property. Henry didn't want to encourage him to snoop around inside. Not that it had stopped him any; he bet he knew the house better than his father did. Still, it did at least narrow down possible hiding places.

He turned his attention to the back of the house, m ore specifically, the porch. He had looked under it as a kid, of course, but he had stopped halfway across when he had found an egg. He had never checked the far corner.

The porch had been redone a few years ago, but knowing his father, if any eggs had been hidden there he would have made sure they went right back when the work was done.

He glanced down at himself. He really liked this shirt. “Time for a wardrobe change,” he said, pulling out his key to the house. His father was constantly changing the locks on him, but Shawn had a guy at the local hardware store that tipped him off whenever Henry bought a new lock. This one had only been bought three weeks ago, so he was reasonably confident his key would still work.

It did, and Shawn quickly entered and headed upstairs.

Ten minutes later he snuck back out, ducking low to avoid being spotted. He had 'borrowed' one of the dozens of horrible, eye-watering Hawaiian shirts hanging in his father's closet. He doubted Henry would notice one missing and if it got destroyed during the search, then he was doing the world a favor.

That didn't mean he wanted to be seen wearing it, so he hurried to the side of the house, where there was an opening to get under the porch. He relaxed once he was fully underneath and away from any witnesses to his shame.

He peered around, but the only light was coming from the cracks in the floor above him and was too diffuse to do more than outline vague shapes in the darkness around him. Cursing at himself for not thinking to grab a flashlight, he shifted around until he could pull out his phone and switched on the flashlight app. A bright light illuminated the area, including a pair of shining eyes watching him.

Shawn yelped, dropping the phone and jumping up quickly. He hissed as he smacked his head hard on the wood above him, leaving him momentarily stunned.

The creature let out a high-pitched squeak and took off, disappearing through a gap on the fair side of the porch.

Heart-pounding, Shawn crouched there a moment to catch his breath. He had gotten a glimpse of the animal as it ran off, showing it to be a chipmunk and not an evil raccoon like he had feared. He picked up his phone, which was still shining a bright light out the back. He shone it around but didn't see sign of any other critters under the porch with him.

Satisfied he was safe for now, he took a moment to carefully feel the back of his head. He winced as his fingers came across a large lump. He didn't feel nauseous but did feel a bit light-headed. It was hard to judge dizziness while kneeling on the ground, so he would give himself a 1.5 out of three. Which was great, since this was one time not scoring would be a good thing. It would be just his luck to give himself a concussion while searching under his porch for twenty-six year old Easter eggs.

Slowly and carefully, he crawled across to the far side of the space. As he got closer, he could see a small pile of miscellaneous items in the corner nearest the house.

Shawn swallowed hard. It looked like a raccoon's nest.

He carefully surveyed the area, but didn't see any signs of the masked devils. Keeping one eye on his surroundings in case of a sneak attack, he cautiously crept forward.

At the bottom of the pile, he could just make out a bit of bright green. Lifting up a gardening glove, he revealed a scratched and battered plastic green egg. “Bingo,” he said with a grin.

A sudden sound behind him caused him to whirl around, slamming his shoulder on a support beam and smashing his knee on a rock. Clutching his shoulder, he glanced frantically around but didn't see anything moving. “Time to go.” He grabbed the egg and quickly crawled back towards the entrance.

He emerged scratched, bruised, and with a throbbing lump on the back of his head but also holding the egg triumphantly in his hand. He limped over to the steps and collapsed onto them, carefully placing the egg down next to him. He didn't care if the neighbors saw him now; the shirt was barely recognizable after his mad dash under the porch (which in his opinion only improved it). He was dirty, tired, and should probably clean and bandage his cuts and put ice on his various bruises.

But he still had another egg to find.

He studied the part of the yard he could see from the steps. Every area he could think of he had already searched as a kid. Time to try a new tactic. Closing his eyes, he thought back to how the yard had looked when he was eight years old. It took him longer than normal to figure it out with his pounding headache but he finally spotted where the final egg could be.

Looking up at the tree in the yard, he saw the small hole in the trunk. It had mostly grown over as well as moved further up the tree in the intervening quarter of a century. It would be a challenge to get up there to see if there was an egg, let alone attempt to cut it out.

With a sigh, Shawn limped off to the tool shed to get a small ax and some rope.

Once he had gather ed his supplies, he went to the tree and looked for a sturdy branch near the hole. Spotting a likely candidate, he attempted to get the rope slung over it. After several tries and much cursing, he finally succeeded.

Next, he made a makeshift harness out of one end of the rope (a skill he acquired during two weeks 'teaching' at a rock climbing facility in Austin) and tied the other end around the picnic table. He stuck the ax through his belt and started to climb.

There were few low hanging branches on the tree, so the going was tough at first. After some scrambling, and some more cursing, he managed to get up to the level of the hole. In the process, he acquired more scratches and the throbbing in his head had gotten worse. He had to balance on one branch and brace himself against another to even see into the hole. He let out a sigh of relief when he spotted the bright pink egg inside. “Got you,” he muttered.

He awkwardly pulled the ax from his belt, almost losing his balance and falling from the tree in the process. Once he was steady again (or as steady as he could be balanced on one branch and leaning out precariously against another) he started to carefully chip away at the hole.

The angle was awkward and the ax kept slipping in his hand. After a few minutes, the arm he was using to brace himself started to shake and his side was beginning to cramp up. He forced himself to keep going. He had come this far and he was not going to give up now.

After several more agonizing minutes, he deemed the hole big enough. Shifting the ax to his left hand, he tried to reach in and grab the egg. The hole was a tight fit and the egg was embedded in a pool of sticky sap. “Come on!” he cried in frustration as he struggled to get a grip on the sticky egg. He finally got his fingers around it, but now his hand was too big to come back out of the hole.

Shawn growled and tugged on his hand. “It took me twenty-six years to find you. I am not going to let a stupid tree beat me.” He leaned back and gave his hand a hard yank.

His hand popped free, though he lost some skin in the process. The sudden movement knocked him off balance. With the ax in his left hand, he couldn't keep a strong enough grip on the branch. His old foe gravity won once again and he fell. The harness stopped him with a jerk until his support branch broke and he crashed to the ground.

He wheezed out as the branch landed on his stomach, forcing out the little air left in his lungs after the fall. He lay there gasping for several minutes, struggling to catch his breath, before he found the strength to push the branch off of him.

He turned his head to the left and saw the ax embedded blade down in the ground next to him, scant inches from his face. He let his breath out slowly and resolutely pushed his near death experience aside. He'd already dealt with more than he could handle today.

He sat up slowly, groaning as his entire body protested the movement. He felt like a giant bruise; one of those really dark purpley ones that take weeks to fade. A quick glance at his stomach under the shirt told him he wasn't far off.

He reached out and grabbed the end of the picnic bench, using it to haul himself to his feet, though leaning heavily against the table. He took several deep breaths to prepare himself before making the arduous trip across the yard to the porch.

He took a break on the steps, picking up the egg he had left there. The second egg was still clutched in his right hand; at least he hoped so. He hadn't looked at it yet; the pain and feeling of warm liquid told him he had cut it pretty badly and looking would only make it hurt worse.

Getting up this time was harder since all his muscles were starting to stiffen up. He eventually got to his feet again and stumbled into the house.

Using the walls and furniture to help hold himself up (and leaving dirty handprints he would have to clean up later), he made it to the sink. He finally let himself drop the egg on the counter and looked at his hand. He winced at the sight of all the blood. He was glad Gus wasn't here to see it. He turned on the faucet and stuck his hand under the water, yelping as it stung in his cuts. He gritted his teeth and held his hand under the flow until the cold water numbed it.

He turned off the tap and examined his hand. The cuts weren't too deep; he didn't think he would need stitches for them. They were still oozing, so he grabbed a dish towel and wrapped it around his hand.

He wanted to crash on the couch and not move for the next twenty years but he knew he needed to clean up while he still had the energy. He thought he had a change of clothes still up in his room so he could just trash the ones he was wearing. There wasn't much hope left for them with all the dirt and tree sap embedded into the fabric.

Now that he was thinking about it, he noticed how grimy and itchy he felt. A warm shower was sounding better and better. With that goal in mind, he hobbled up the stairs.

Two hours later Shawn re-entered the kitchen, squeaky clean, freshly bandaged and feeling less stiff than he was expecting. He went straight for the fridge, pulling out a couple of beers and a chunk of leftover steak. He popped the cap on the first beer and almost had it finished before he made it into the living room and collapsed on the couch. He finished off the steak in record time, then leisurely worked on finishing off his second beer.

He pulled out the egg he had found under the porch. It was dirty and beat up and he had no desire to see what state the candy was in after twenty odd years. Still, he felt a sense of pride and accomplishment as he looked at it.

He put the egg on the table and relaxed back against the couch. Now if only his father would acknowledge he had done a good job. The man would probably complain he had taken twenty-six years to find the eggs instead of congratulating him on completing the task. His father had always been that way with every challenge he had set for him growing up.

Well, he wasn't a kid anymore and he wasn't going to take it. He grinned wickedly as he came up with an idea. Maybe it was time for Henry to be the one challenged.

He looked around the room speculatively as he formulated his plan. Oh yeah, this was going to be good.

Henry walked into his kitchen, tired but happy. The fishing had been good today and he had caught enough to keep him stocked up for a while. He put most of the fish in his freezer, keeping a couple out to cook later this week. Maybe he would invite Shawn over to share them, even if his lazy son had refused to join him in the first place.

He went to grab a beer out of the fridge, frowning when he noticed several were missing, as was the leftover steak from his dinner last night. Looks like Shawn had stopped by today and helped himself, as usual. He doubted his son had been here just for the food. He better check around and see what damage Shawn had caused in his absence.

Glancing around the room, he noticed something sitting on the table. He walked over and studied the two muddy and sap covered plastic Easter eggs. He picked up the note next to him.

Dad

Case closed.

Suuuucck iiittttt!

Shaking his head, Henry grabbed the two eggs and threw them in the trash. It was about time Shawn finished something he started.

He walked into his living room, planning to relax with his beer and see if a game was on. He froze in the doorway, staring in horror at the room. “Shawn!” he yelled.

He stomped back to the table and grabbed the note. Flipping it over, he saw his son had written more on the back of it.

I thought it was only fair for you to have a challenge of your own. Your fishing trophies are hidden somewhere within Santa Barbara. Since I'm such a good son, I'll give you a hint for the first one; it's hidden somewhere you like to relive your glory days.

Good Luck!

Henry growled as he crumpled up the note. Oh, the kid was good, he had to admit that. His son knew he wouldn't be able to ignore this. He could already think of a dozen places Shawn could have hidden them, most that would be awkward or embarrassing to get to. But Henry Spencer never backed down from a challenge.

He dumped his beer and grabbed the keys to his truck. He had some missing trophies to find.