Shawn was sure he was in the worst pain he had ever been in his life, and that included getting shot. Slowly he rolled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen where the drugs the doctor prescribed were kept. Walking as if he were eighty and had scoliosis it took him almost five minutes to navigate the twenty feet from bedroom to kitchen counter.
"Definitely shouldn't had jump on Lassie's desk." During one of his psychic visions he decided it was a good idea to jump on the detective's desk and dance around on his papers. The none too amused man grabbed him from around the middle and yanked him down that was when Shawn felt the tell-tale twinge of his old injury caused by a motorcycle accident. He tried to sleep it off with some Motrin and a heating pad but that hadn't help matters at all, if anything it made it worse.
He began to dig through all the items that were on his counter and almost felt like crying when he found the orange bottle with the little white tablets. They were expired but he wasn't going to wait for an appointment from his orthopedist so he could get more. His back didn't hurt him all that often but when it did he could barely breathe.
His phone beeped and he groaned when he looked at the message. 'Be here in one hour or all your stuff is going in the trash.' "Crap!" Shawn was supposed to help his dad clean out the attic and unlike other times he was pretty sure his dad was serious. Two should do it. He tapped out two tablets and grabbed a glass to get some water from the tap. Once the glass was full he turned to grabbed his pills and instantly regretted it his back seized up, his whole body tightened including his hands effectively breaking the glass in his hand, and he fell to the floor gasping for air.
"Oh dear god." He continued his hitched breathing hoping the pain to subside but it didn't work and to add insult to injury, or really more injury to injury, his hand was bleeding and he was pretty sure there was still some glass in it. Really? Slowly he managed to reach his phone and started to dial his phone leaving little bloody finger prints on the screen. He put it on speaker and continued his slow breathing and prayed that his call would be answered.
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Henry Spencer looked at all the piles of boxes he had pulled out of the attic and sighed. "You better get here soon Shawn." He had fired off a text message to his son about five minutes ago and he was waiting for either a phone call full of excuses or for his son to show up on his death trap knowing full well that he couldn't haul anything on it. When his cellphone rang and the caller ID confirmed his assumption he picked it up ready to ream his son a new one.
"What excuse is it this time Shawn?" He was met with small gasps and a groan. His heart rate tripled. "Shawn? Talk to me kid!"
"Dad? It-it hurts." Followed by more hitched breathing and another groan.
"Tell me what hurts kid." He was trying to keep his voice level and as calm as possible. He was rushing through the house and had grabbed his keys and for some reason, his gun. "Tell me where you are kid."
"H-home..." followed by another groan. "Everything hurts."
Henry turned on the speaker as he got into the old truck and pulled out going as fast as the old thing would go. "Shawn please tell me what happened kid."
The line was silent besides the sounds of pained breathing and an occasional gasp. Henry wanted so badly to hang up and call for help but as long as he could hear the sound of his son breathing air he knew that he could save him from whatever, or whomever, hurt him. He tried again. "Shawn tell me." He didn't care that the pleading in his voice rivaled a four year old in that aspect.
A few gasps and then a groan. "Blood." That was all Shawn said before he went back to the panting and at the sound of the word Henry pushed harder on the accelerator. The truck was silent for the next five minutes save for the sound of Shawn's pained breathing. When Henry pulled up to the building that Shawn was currently calling home he flung open the door of the truck and ran to the door. From his vantage point he couldn't see much of the space and as he tried the handle he found it to be locked. He counted to three and then did something he hadn't done since his old days in the department.
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Shawn lay on the cold floor of his kitchen just trying to get the pain to come down from the double digits it was at. His pant breathing was helping a bit but he knew that he needed something so very much stronger but the pills were out of reach and besides his dad was coming. He hadn't intended to call his dad but the only thing that could explain it was the message was still pulled up and he accidently hit dial. When his dad first picked up he was shocked and almost considered hanging up but when the pain notched up further he didn't care. His dad kept asking him what happened and he wasn't able to get out much except that he was home and he was bleeding. Maybe not the best choice of words.
When he heard the old engine of the truck pull up he almost sighed in relief but was quickly reminded of his back. He listened carefully as his dad tried the door and, probably in tandem with the man, counted to three before the sound of splintering wood filled the apartment. "D-dad!" He tried to yell as loud as he dared but it sounded more like a whimper. Silent footsteps slowly made their way to where Shawn was and as he looked up he saw the confused look of his father as he took in the scene.
"Shawn? Are they still here?" It was Shawn's turn to wear a confused look as he saw his dad holding a pistol and looking alert. He shook his head.
"Back seized up." He panted a few more times. "Cut hand on glass."
Shawn swore that he heard the old man chuckle a bit before he put the gun on the table and knelt next to his son. "Come on son. I know it's going to hurt but let's at least get you sitting." Shawn gave a small nod and clenched his teeth as his father gathered him up from under his arms. As he was pulled up to a sitting position he was unable to stifle the groan that bubbled up. He kept his eyes close as his father pulled up his injured hand and held a rag to it. He hissed. "Think some glass is in there still." He opened his eyes and his father was nowhere to be seen. "Dad?" Quick approaching footsteps was his reply and his dad appeared with a first aid kit and some peroxide. He knelt next to his son again and examined the hand one more time.
"Still some glass in here I am going to get it out before I bandage it." Shawn gave another small nod and the old man went to work with the tweezers. Shawn gave some grunts of dissatisfaction but stayed otherwise silent. When Henry was satisfied with his work he wrapped gauze on the wound and Shawn sighed at the soft feel. "Now let's get you into bed."
"Pills first." Henry looked where Shawn's eyes flicked too and gave a small smile. He picked them up and handed them to Shawn who promptly swallowed them dry.
"What did you just take?"
"Vicodin. Doctor prescribed years ago." Henry didn't say a word and just got low next to his son. Shawn threw his arm around his father's shoulder and as one they stood. Shawn whimpered a bit but Henry didn't give any indication that he heard it. Slowly they made their way to his bed and Henry deposited his son on the bed. Shawn reached for the heating pad and put it directly on his lower back he then fumbled with the cord trying to find the control he just encountered the hand of his father.
"What setting?"
"High."
Henry clicked the button and soon Shawn felt the blissful heat penetrate his locked up muscles. He sighed, relaxed, and before he knew it he was nodding off from the combination of the drugs, heat, and exhaustion from pain.
Henry covered his sleeping son and set about cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. During his clean-up he found the pill bottle and this time did chuckle. Both him and Shawn had the same orthopedist and for similar problems. Once he was done in the kitchen he started on fixing the door the best he could with the tools he had.
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Shawn woke up feeling warm, fuzzy, and blissfully pain free. He heard his television on in his living room and was confused by the sound. He made his way in there and found his dad drinking a beer while watching a baseball game.
"Bout time you woke up kid. You've been out for hours."
Shawn rubbed the back of his neck and felt the blush rise in his cheeks. "Yeah about that, thanks."
Henry took another drag of his beer and smiled at his son. "I call Dr. Nelson and he would gladly renew your prescription."
"Uh huh."
"But he wanted to see if your slipped disc had gotten worse since your motorcycle accident."
Shawn chewed his lip and felt the need to escape. "Uh huh?"
Henry's voice was calm. "What did I tell you about that death trap Shawn? You're just lucky you slipped a disk and didn't kill yourself."
Shawn sat down next to his father as he continued his rant and watched the game ignoring every word.