It didn't go well. No, actually saying it didn't go well was probably the understatement of the year - it was like saying the Nazis were bad or dying isn't a good time. Joy had tried to mediate, Shawn had tried to mediate, but when it came down to it the whole thing boiled down to Gus and his parents staring each other down over a stack of blueberry crepes. When Gus told them, Shawn's hand clasping his under the table - and then on top of it as though it were proof of anything, they didn't believe it. They asked if Shawn had put him up to it or brainwashed him, if he was on drugs.
Then, as they tried to explain and he tried to tell them that no, he hadn't been lying - and if he had it was just because he was lying to himself more than anyone, he broke down. For a few minutes, they seemed to believe him. Then, it came out. "You're a liar, Gus. You know we won't suffer a liar and a sinner in this house."
They tried to argue it out, to explain Gus' stance - but in the end only ended up fleeing to the car and driving home in silence. Shawn sounded like he was trying to start a conversation, but even his voice seemed to be locked up in the combination of anger and frustration filling the Blueberry. They pulled into Gus' reserved spot and then Gus hightailed it up the stairs to their apartment - not bothering to wait for the elevator that Shawn would still take since the stairs still made him ache by the time he got to their floor.
Inside the quiet apartment, Gus went straight for the liquor cabinet above the refridgerator and methodically set out all five of their A-Team shot glasses and filled them with warm tequila.
The van. Face. Murdock. B.A. Baracus. The front door opened again just as he slammed down Hannibal and set the heavy shot glass back on the counter with a loud gasp - the burn of the alcohol seeping down his throat to his gut.