As Henry sped towards the hospital, he snuck a glance at Shawn. He was hovering over Juliet, gently wiping at the tears that leaked from her mostly closed eyelids. He had never seen his son so quiet, so still in his life. Except for the all too frequent times he'd been forced to drive this very route to the hospital only to find which ambulance had scraped Shawn and his stupid motorcycle off the road this time. Henry drew in a shaking breath at the thought of enduring that again.
It could have been Shawn who was taken, he couldn't help thinking. He knew Shawn was in pain just at the thought of Abigail or Juliet being hurt and was devastated to see Juliet injured and suffering, but selfishly, Henry couldn't help but be relieved that it wasn't Shawn who was draped across his passenger seat semi-conscious. After Shawn had been shot, after they'd spent 12 hours trying frantically to find him with no luck, Henry was sure that he'd lost Shawn for good. Sure, when they'd come to his rescue Shawn been his snarky and cocksure self, going so far as to jump on the hood of Lassiter's car, the better to disable the speeding truck and stop the man who'd been certain to kill him. But Henry knew better. He knew how close he'd come to losing Shawn. As the adrenaline from his car stunt had started to wear off, Shawn had collapsed into his father's arms, shaking and moaning much as Juliet had been doing only minutes earlier. Henry knew he'd never get the sound of Shawn's labored breathing, him gasping in pain, out of his mind.
"Dad, please hurry," begged Shawn, shaking Henry out of his reverie. Henry glanced at Shawn, who looked grim.
"How's she doing?" asked Henry.
Shawn just shook his head sadly. She wasn't looking good. Juliet had slid into unconsciousness again and was shivering more than ever despite the heat of the truck. Shawn let out a small breath of relief as he saw the lights of the hospital come into view. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too late.