"What?"

Shawn nearly keeled over in shock.

Had his father really just admitted something was his fault?

Henry scowled, his ears burning as he realized what he had just said.

"What'd you want me to say, Kid?" He asked quietly. "'Oh, by the way…you know how your memory is shot and you can't think your way out of a paper bag?...That was me. I did that.'… Is that it? Is that what I was supposed to say?"

"Dad--"

"No. Tell me, Shawn. Would that have changed anything? Would it have made your memory come back any faster?"

"It would've been better than lying to me!" Shawn insisted without much conviction.

Even he wasn't sure that was true.

Henry sighed and went back to work in the garden, kneeling in the dirt as he yanked the weeds out one-by-one.

"Well, I didn't say it." He muttered.

"Yeah. I know."

Shawn watched silently as his father worked, doing anything he could to avoid having to look at his son. The weeds flew out of the ground almost violently as he ripped them out by their roots and threw them into a pile by Shawn's feet.

"It's coming back, Dad." Shawn said after a long moment.

Henry didn't respond, but his furious weeding pace suddenly slowed down a bit.

Shawn pressed on, certain his father was hearing every word even if he didn't show it.

"Not my memory…I still can't see anything when I close my eyes. But I'm starting to be able to think my way out of paper bags…You know, as long as the flap is open a bit…"

Henry glanced up, but still didn't say anything.

"I mean, all things considered…this isn't even the worst thing you've ever done to me," Shawn concluded with a sly grin, knowing his father wouldn't be able hold back any more.

As it turned out, he was right.

"What the hell does that mean?" Henry demanded hotly, standing up again.

"Oh, come on!" Shawn snorted. "You've done way worse than push me off a roof!"

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know…the forced camping, for one!" Shawn began to count off on his fingers. "Or how about the 3 AM fishing trips? Or constantly riding my ass about being a cop! Or that damn hat game!"

"Shawn—"

"Seriously, Dad. Did you really think a little conk on the head was going to push me over the edge and send me crawling to therapy or something? Give me some credit! If I could survive your blitzkrieg parenting, I think I can survive a little concussion."

Henry's eyes locked with his son's as he crossed his arms stubbornly.

"It's not my fault you're a lousy camper." He growled.

"It's not my fault you pushed me off a damn roof!" Shawn shot back, still grinning.

Henry's eyes narrowed. He turned on his heel and started to walk back to the house.

"Don't you have a paper bag to go think you way out of?" He muttered.

"Yeah." Shawn retorted, calling after him. "And I'm going to think my way out of it, too!"

He couldn't help it. As the screen door slammed shut behind his father, Shawn started to laugh, though he wasn't exactly sure why.

"At least, I hope I'm going to think my way out of it…" he added under his breath before hopping on his bike and driving off again.