"Shawn."
The quiet voice cut through the swirling, painful fog.
Shawn tried to answer it, but he couldn't even move. None of his muscles seemed to be responding to his commands.
I think I broke my body…he groaned, somehow managing to form a cohesive thought through the radiating agony.
"Shawn," the voice said again. "Can you hear me?"
Slowly, he forced his eyes open.
He was laying flat on his back on the hard ground in his father's front yard, staring up into the infinite blue sky above. He blinked slowly, trying to remember how he'd ended up there…
Henry was kneeling next to him, gently prodding his arms and legs, checking for broken bones.
Shawn groaned again, still unable to figure out how to make his mouth move to speak.
"Don't talk, Kid." Henry mumbled, quickly looking at Shawn's pupils when he saw his eyes were open now. "The ambulance is on its way."
Shawn tried to nod.
"I don't think anything's broken and I don't think you have a neck injury," Henry continued, sitting on the grass next to his son. "But you definitely have a concussion."
Shawn grunted wearily.
It didn't feel like he had a concussion.
It felt like he'd smashed every bone in his body into a thousand tiny pieces.
"What happened?" He asked once he could remember how to talk, his voice coming out as a tiny, pathetic whimper.
Henry glanced down at him, suddenly looking concerned.
"You don't remember?"
"No."
"You fell."
"Off a cliff?" Shawn moaned.
"Close enough. You fell off the roof, Kid."
"Roof?"
Shawn closed his eyes again, trying to find his last memory…
But there wasn't one.
"Yeah." Henry told him, still regarding him with concern. "You were cleaning out the gutters. Don't you remember anything?"
"No."
"Well, you were using the ladder, but then you thought it'd be faster to just climb on the roof to clean them out."
"Oh."
It sounded familiar…
So familiar…
"Were you up there?" He asked, something like a memory slowly fading into his mind.
Henry…on the roof…falling…
"Yeah." Henry answered quietly.
"Did you--"
"Shawn. Stop talking."
In the distance, they could hear the screaming of the ambulance's siren, coming closer.
Shawn groaned again, letting his head roll to one side.
"Okay…" he murmured, not really caring what had happened anymore. He just wanted the pain to stop.
"He has a concussion, so we're going to keep him overnight for observation." The doctor told Henry outside Shawn's hospital room, scribbling notes on a chart.
"But he'll be okay?" Henry asked.
"Should be," the doctor replied. "Nothing's broken and there don't seem to be any internal injuries. We just want to make sure the head injury isn't more severe than it appears. His memory is coming back, which is a good sign."
"Yeah," Henry mumbled, not sounding convinced. "A good sign…"
"We'll have to wait to be sure, but barring any unforeseen complications, Shawn should be able to go home tomorrow."
The doctor dropped the chart back into the slot on the door and moved on.
Henry sighed and walked back into Shawn's room.
"What'd he say?" Shawn asked, his eyes already glazing over from the painkillers surging through his bloodstream.
"You'll live, Kid."
"Damn."
Henry laughed and collapsed into a chair on the opposite side of the room.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Shawn's eyes were closed again, his forehead creased as he fought against the pain.
"Dad…" he mumbled finally, not opening his eyes.
"Yeah, kid?"
"What color's your shirt?"
"What?"
"Your shirt." Shawn repeated slowly. "What color's your shirt?"
"Blue. Why?"
"Because." Shawn's eyes snapped open. "I can't remember. I can't see it in my head."