He's not exactly too keen on being awakened earlier than 10 in the morning. Nothing could make this situation okay.

Especially since he found the suspect for the murder case he's on, and that same suspect is pushing him forward with a gun pressed to the back of his head.

"Man, it is way too early to be dealing with this," Shawn says, jerking his hands against the rope that binds them together. Taylor Embrely, aka the suspect, hits the butt of the gun against Shawn's head.

"Alright, I'm moving, I'm moving." Shawn looks around the field. It's too dark for him to see anything substantial, and he can't even see where the edge of the field is. He just keeps walking towards the middle, where Embrely must have hidden something important. Or maybe Embrely dug Shawn's grave earlier. Who knows. It's a mystery.

"I know I test you a lot on what you see. I've tested what you've heard. I need you to identify smells and touch. It might save your life someday."

Shawn closes his eyes and tries to block any noise from entering his brain. The world fades to an even darker black, and the sound of his and Embrely's feet crunching the dirt and rock pebbles becomes white noise. He can't see, he won't hear. Pay attention.

He twists his hand. The rope cuts into his skin, and he manages to grip a thread of the rope between his index finger and thumb. He rubs it between his fingers. It feels weak, like it is quite literally hanging on by a thread. He tugs on it. It snaps.

He turns his face up to the sky and breathes deeply. The clean night air tickles his nose, and aside from the obvious dirt and underbrush that he saw earlier, he can't smell anything els–

Wait a minute.

He falters for a moment, trying to place that smell. It's onions and– and bricks, something like that. He inhales deeper, and he still comes up with nothing. Man, where is Gus when I need him? he thinks.

Shawn tries again, but this time, he tries to turn his face away from Embrely's open-mouthed breathing. Think, Shawn.

Gasoline. Singed hair.

Breathe deeper.

Wood. It's faint, but it's there.

Shawn's eyes snap open. He knows where Embrely is taking him.

It is not pretty.

They're getting closer to the fire site with each passing second, and Shawn is frantically trying to think of ways to overpower the obvious obstacle behind him. He tilts his head back and listens with his good ear.

Before he writes it off as a loss, he hears silent feet weaving between the underbrush. Their steps are silent, but the dirt shifts, pebbles scatter, and jackrabbits hurry away. The person never goes any faster than his pace now. He's closer to Embrely than he is to Shawn. His breathing is controlled, so quiet that Shawn couldn't even dream of hearing it at this moment. He takes one step for every three Shawn and Embrely take.

Lassie.

Shawn bites his bottom lip and throws his head back. The gun slips from Embrely's hand, and Shawn immediately kicks it away, spinning on his heel to face him.

"Not so brave now, are ya?" Shawn grins and bounces up and down. Lassie's gonna save him, Lassie's gonna save him, Lassie's gonna –

"Spencer, you really need to learn to think before you speak," Embrely says, reaching into his boot. He pulls out a knife – it's sheathed, but that's going to change in the matter of exactly 6 seconds, and Shawn knows that it's practically impossible to run well without the use of his arms.

I mean, it's not like he's not going to try to outrun Embrely.

He turns around and sprints away, his hands awkwardly tied behind his back. It takes Embrely all of 45 seconds to catch up, spin Shawn around, and flash his knife.

"I- I really don't think that's a good idea," Shawn says, "I mean, jail is no fun, I- I can assure you, and if you stab me, that- that will not bode well for you –"

Embrely glances over his shoulder. Lassie isn't trying to keep quiet anymore, and he's getting closer. Embrely looks back to Shawn and digs the blade into Shawn's stomach.

Shawn's knees buckle and he pitches forward. Embrely side-steps him and takes off again.

Shawn just manages to catch himself before he falls face-first into the ground. Lassie runs up to him. "Spencer! You alright?"

Shawn lifts a hand and waves him off. "I- I think I'm good, Lassie. Don- don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Go catch him."

Lassiter seems torn between helping Shawn and pursuing justice. One foot shifts towards Embrely's direction, the other stays planted.

"Go!"

Lassiter runs off.

Shawn pants, and his vision swims before him. He knows he shouldn't take out the knife, but it's so sharp and it's really wedged in there. He tries to grip it with his free hand, but his hand is shaking badly and the handle is slick with blood.

"Oh, God," he says. "I'm really going to die out here." He coughs, and he knows that specks of blood came up with it. "Lassie!" he shouts, but his voice is too weak, and it won't carry far. "Lassie, I need- Lassie, I need your help! I- I think I'm- I think I'm dying!"

"Shawn!"

Shawn shakes his head and gulps. He needs to stay awake; he needs to get up. He braces a shaking hand on the ground and tries to push himself up, but his arm trembles and he nearly collapses.

"Shawn, I'm close, buddy! Keep talking! Don't stop!"

His mouth feels like cotton. Is that normal? He feels like that's not normal. "Dad? Is- is that you?"

"Yeah, Shawn, it's me. Keep talking to me, where are you?"

"Um…I- I tripped? No, I didn't trip. Um…I think I might have gotten stabbed. The knife is really wedged in there, Dad." He chokes back a sob. "It hurts."

He hears Henry's steps falter. "Oh, God, you're way too young to deal with this," he murmurs, and under any other circumstances, Shawn wouldn't have heard him, but his sight is deprived and he's about to die.

"Dad, please come get me."

"I'm coming, son, I'm coming." Henry's steps come closer. Slower, but closer. "Let's play a game."

"I'm- I'm not closing my eyes, Dad, I think that's…a really bad idea."

Henry chuckles, but it's without all of his usual warmth. "No, we're not going to play the hat game. What- what about 20 questions? Is that okay?"

"Dad, I- I can hear your shoes. You're- you're really close."

"Keep talking."

"Did- did you happen to bring a phone? Maybe you could- could call an ambulance?" Shawn coughs again, and he feels blood spurt from his mouth. "I don't have…a whole lot of time."

Henry kneels in front of him. "I'm right here, son. Don't worry. Everything will be okay." He pulls Shawn closer to him, rolling him onto his side. "You're not gonna die, I won't let that happen."

"You'd get your PlayStation back."

Henry smiles softly and starts running his hand through Shawn's hair. "I don't want it back. Not if it means you have to go."

"Dad, I'll- I'll be fine. As long as you call an ambulance."

Henry licks his lips and nods. "Son, about that…"

Shawn inhales shakily. "Lemme guess: there's no service."

Henry nods slowly. "I'm sorry, son." His eyes look watery. "There's nothing I can do until Lassiter gets back."

Shawn grips Henry's arm with his hand. "Dad, I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die, please, please, Dad, don't let me –"

"Shh, shh." Henry cradles Shawn's head. "You won't die, son, I promised you that."

Shawn's eyes are wild. "Dad, what- what if I do die? What is it like? I don't- I'm scared, I can't do this."

"Would you listen to me? You are not going to die." He stops to think. "I just wanted you to know, son: I love you more than anything in the world."

"My eyes feel heavy."

"Don't close them. Whatever you do, don't close your eyes."

Shawn hums. "Too late. I'm going to take a nap."

"Shawn! Shawn!" Henry taps Shawn's cheek, but there's no response.

Lassiter runs up. "The slippery bastard got away. We'll find him, I –" His eyes land on Shawn. "Oh, God, what happened?"

Henry looks up. "I need you to rush him to a hospital."

Shawn is in a coma for three long weeks. During that time, Juliet and Lassiter (with Vick's and Gus's help) manage to track down Taylor Embrely and charge him with attempted murder, kidnapping, and first degree murder.

It took Lassiter, Gus, and Jules to drag Henry away from Shawn's side after he got out of surgery. He hardly slept, and he paced a hole in the carpet of the waiting room and his own home. He was no better when he sat beside Shawn's hospital bed. Madeleine had to coax him into his own bed after a solid three days without sleep.

When Henry wasn't at the hospital, he tried to help work the case against Shawn's attacker. No one on the force had ever seen him so determined, nor had any of them seen him so angry. Vick promptly removed him from consultation due to conflict of interest.

Right now, it's Maddy's turn to sleep, and the hospital staff reluctantly lifted the visiting restrictions for Shawn's parents. Henry tried to talk to Shawn for the first couple of days, but he got choked up every time he thought of what could have happened and what might still happen. Right now, he's reading And Then There Were None, which was one of two books Shawn read at school that he loved.

"Dad?"

Henry immediately drops the book, sits up, and brushes Shawn's hair from his forehead. "Yeah, Shawn? I'm right here."

"That knife was a little bitch."

Henry snorts. "You're going to be just fine, Shawn. The doctors did a good job."

Shawn licks his lips. His eyes are still half-lidded, and the drugs are probably going to drag him back to sleep soon. "Dad? I don't know how you were able to stand this as a cop."

Henry smiles softly, and his eyes are a little more misty than normal. He blames allergies. "I had a son I needed to protect."

"This sucks ass, Dad."

"I know, son, I know. You're tired. Go back to sleep."

Shawn continues to nod, and he licks his lips again. "I don't wanna get stabbed again."

"You won't. Not on my watch." Henry watches as Shawn's eyes flutter closed. "And, Shawn?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"You know I love you, right?"

The corner of Shawn's mouth twitches in a half-smile, and his left hand reaches for Henry's. "I know, Dad. I love you, too."