And here goes chapter 3 - thank you again for all of the wonderful reviews! There will be one more brief chapter to wrap things up after this one - enjoy!
Shawn slowly regained consciousness just as Henry and Lassiter pulled him through the door of the cabin. 'Couldn't wake up earlier, had to make us drag him all the way back,' thought Lassiter grudgingly. 'Typical Spencer.'
"The one time I actually find myself wishing for modern technology," Henry growled as they gently placed Shawn in a chair by the fireplace. "I'd kill for a cell phone tower right about now, and from the looks of the mud out there, we aren't going anywhere soon."
Lassiter reached over and flicked on the battery powered radio sitting in the corner while Henry gently tapped Shawn's cheek.
"Hey kid, time to wake up."
"I'm awake already," Shawn murmured, turning his head away. 'Wow, when did it get so cold,' he thought numbly as chills raced through his body, 'and why is my leg on fire? Man, this cannot be good. Why is it always me?'
"Lassiter, we need to get him dry and figure out what the hell happened," Henry said anxiously.
"Thank you for stating the obvious," Lassiter replied sarcastically, but sighed as guilt washed over him a second later. "Sorry, that was uncalled for - OK, let's see what your kid's gotten himself into this time."
"Um, still here," Shawn said, annoyed in spite of the pain clouding his thoughts. "You could at least include me in this rousing conversation!"
"Can it, Spencer, and just let us help you for a change."
Admittedly, being warm and pain-free again would be nice. Shawn decided to allow his dad and Lassie to help him out, just this once. A few seconds later, though, his mind was quickly changed. While Lassie propped him up, his dad gently pulled the jacket off his leg and started undressing him. At some point, a pile of towels had miraculously appeared on the couch nearby.
"Hey, what am I, a slab of meat?" Shawn quipped, teeth gritted through the agonizing torture of having his jeans pulled carefully off his blood-soaked leg. "Lassie, try not to get too jealous when you see my glorious physique."
Any comment Lassiter planned on making in return was forestalled by the gruesome site of the knife wound in Shawn's thigh. The ragged hole was still bleeding, albeit sluggishly, and looked red and ragged around the edges. Shawn swallowed down his rising nausea and turned his face into Lassiter's shoulder, causing the detective to grunt softly in surprise.
Henry made quick work of Shawn's clothes, and soon they had maneuvered him, clad only in boxers and a tee shirt, onto the couch. They proceeded to wrap him in the dry towels, leaving only his damaged right thigh exposed.
"Damn it, kid, you never do things the easy way," Henry said, shaking his head sadly at the trembling form before him. He felt an overwhelming desire to simply hold his son and reassure himself that Shawn was alive, but right now they had to clean his wound and hope the storm would abate soon. As if on cue, a local weather report emitted from the radio.
". . . severe flooding in the area. . . downed trees. . . road into Sunny Vale washed out by mud. . . expected to last into the morning."
"Well, I guess we're going to be stuck here until morning," said Lassiter uneasily. He had already started unpacking the first-aid kit, but worry was eating at him when he thought of the injured psychic.
"Don't get all serious on me, Lassie," Shawn slurred out, exhaustion and pain finally starting to wear him down. "I'm sure you two boy scouts will have me right as rain - no pun intended - in no time."
Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Henry, hold him down," he said as he prepared to clean the wound. Henry grabbed Shawn's shoulders and pushed him farther into the couch. Shawn suddenly started to squirm, forgetting how cold he was in his sudden panic to escape this new torture.
Trying his best to ignore Shawn's pleading looks, Lassiter began disinfecting the area around the wound and pulling out little bits of debris with a set of tweezers. Shawn's first agonized scream caused both men to flinch, Henry momentarily closing his eyes with sadness. After a few minutes, the screams died down to choking sobs, followed mercifully by silence as Shawn slipped once more into oblivion.
Once the wound was clean, Lassiter bandaged the area tightly to stop the bleeding which had begun again in earnest. Henry then covered Shawn completely with blankets and towels, and both men sat back, drained.
"What the hell happened to him?" Lassiter asked wonderingly. "He went out to get wood, for Pete's sake! When he wakes up again, Spencer's going to have some serious explaining to do."
"Right now, you and I should get dried off and get a fire going," Henry said tiredly. "It's going to be a long night."
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Two hours later, Lassiter and Henry were both sitting by the fire watching as Shawn tossed and turned on the couch. They'd tried playing cards, but neither man could keep his mind off of the night's events. Shawn had developed a fever about 30 minutes prior, and a look at the wound in his thigh had confirmed Lassiter's suspicion of infection.
"I must have missed some of the debris," Lassiter sighed, shaking his head.
"Not your fault, you did the best you could," Henry replied, soaking another washcloth in cold water and draping it over Shawn's forehead. "Let's just hope we can keep his fever down. I wish he'd wake up, even for a minute, so we could get some aspirin and water into him."
"Your kid's stubborn," said Lassiter, a tiny note of affection creeping into his voice. "He'll wake up when he feels like it."
"Preaching to the choir," Henry murmured, gazing fondly at his son.
"I suppose we should take turns sitting with him so we don't drop from exhaustion ourselves," Lassiter voiced out hesitantly. Clearly, the thought of playing nursemaid to Shawn was slightly unnerving to him.
"Good idea. I'll take the first shift," Henry offered, much to Lassiter's relief. "I'll wake you in a few hours."
"Alright, shout if you need me." Lassiter levered himself out of the chair, and, with a final glance back at Shawn, moved off into the bedroom.
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The rest of the night passed much too slowly for Lassiter's liking. After a few hours of rest, he relieved Henry, who reported that Shawn's condition hadn't changed. Lassiter spent the next few hours trying to keep Shawn cool, checking his wound for any new signs of trouble, and attempting to sooth the psychic's fevered dreams. The last part was exceedingly uncomfortable, as Lassiter didn't think of himself as a "sensitive" kind of guy. Since Shawn was unconscious, though, he figured a few words of comfort couldn't hurt.
When it came time for Henry to take over, it was close to dawn and Lassiter found he couldn't sleep anymore. Both men alternated sitting by the couch and staring out the window, willing the rain to stop. Finally, around 7:00 am, the storm began to let up. At the same time, Shawn opened his eyes and blinked owlishly at his surroundings.
"What the. . . ? What's going on?" he croaked out.
Henry grabbed a glass of water from the table and carefully propped Shawn up so he could drink. 'God, water never tasted so good,' Shawn thought sleepily.
"Welcome back," Lassiter grinned down at him. "Nice of you to finally rejoin us."
"Fever's down," Henry remarked, laying one hand over Shawn's forehead. As Shawn attempted to twist away from the contact, he suddenly became aware of the pulsing pain shooting up from his leg.
"Ahhhh!," he cried out, hand automatically reaching for the offending limb.
"No touching!," Lassiter growled, slapping his hand away. "You'll undo all of my hard work." Then he softened, knowing the agony Shawn must be feeling. "I'm sorry we don't have any pain meds, but the storm is letting up so hopefully we can reach civilization and a decent hospital soon."
"Great, I love hospitals," Shawn ground out, panting slightly against the pain. Henry was stroking his hair absentmindedly, but Shawn didn't seem to mind. The motion was actually distracting him from his leg, which was welcome at the moment.
"Shawn, what happened out there," Henry said, a question that had plagued both him and Lassiter for most of the night.
"Stupid, really," Shawn said, shaking his head. "Just a couple of poachers who thought I was dinner. I managed to keep them from learning my true identity, thanks to my quick mind and agile body, but one of them caught me with his damn butcher's knife."
"They thought you were dinner," Lassiter said, eyes wide with unconcealed mirth. He was clearly having trouble keeping a straight face . Henry just shook his head in astonishment. Only his kid could land himself in such a crazy situation.
A spasm of pain caught Shawn unaware, and he gripped the couch cushion with enough force to turn his knuckles white. Lassiter immediately sobered up, his face taking on a look of concern. 'Wait, Lassie's concerned?' Shawn thought blearily. 'I must be hallucinating.'
Just then, voices came from outside the cabin. "Mr. Spencer? Are you OK in there? This is Missy and a patrol from the retreat. We're checking to make sure everyone's alright!"
Henry bolted for the door and flung it open, noticing for the first time that the rain had almost stopped. The retreat personnel had an all-terrain jeep with them, which had cut through the diminishing mud with ease. "We need some help!" he called as they approached. "My son ran into some poachers last night and is badly injured."
"Poachers? Here?" Missy replied, looking stunned. "Don't worry, our jeep will get us back to the main lodge, and we can call an ambulance from there. The road into the retreat should be cleared in the next 20 minutes, according to the local authorities."
As the patrol filed in to assist Shawn, Lassiter spared Missy a quick smile before returning his attention to the downed psychic. Any romantic notions had fled after the night they had endured. Now, to his surprise, he found his only concern was getting Shawn patched up and back to his usual, annoying self. Well, that and a certain phone call he planned to make as soon as they were back at the lodge - a phone call that would ensure Shawn's attackers spent some quality time in prison.