Shawn first became aware he wasn't dead when he heard the sound of a squeaky cart being pushed down a corridor.

Even before his eyes were slowly opening, he was cursing the noise.

Someone, please oil the damn wheel…

He could feel his hands traveling to his ears, trying to drown out the grating sound, which was coming closer and closer.

He hadn't even started to think about the pain yet…

All that seemed to matter was that squeaky wheel.

Suddenly, he heard a door shut.

His eyes shot open, still blurry and unfocused.

"Damn wheel…" someone on the other side of the room, standing by the door, was mumbling.

Someone who sounded so familiar…

"Dad?" He asked, trying to sit up, but giving up after the dull but persistent pain in his abdomen became a shooting pain that traveled through his entire body.

Henry walked back over to the bed.

"You'd think a damn hospital could afford to keep their medication cart wheels oiled. I've been listening to that thing come squeaking by every half-hour for the last three hours, Shawn."

"Sorry."

Henry just shook his head, collapsing into a nearby chair.

He looked tired, Shawn couldn't help but notice.

He hadn't shaved, either.

"The cops have been by three times already," Henry told him. "Karen and…that other one. The blonde one. They'll probably be back soon. So I hope you can explain everything."

"Explain what?" Shawn asked weakly, letting his head sink back into the thin pillow. "Right now, I can't even explain why I'm not dead."

"Why the hell you were at a locked-down warehouse crime scene, for one. What happened to Lassiter, for another."

"They haven't found him yet?"

His head was still swimming, the memories still just coming in disjointed bits and pieces.

"No…And," Henry added pointedly, glaring at his son, "I hope you can explain why the hell you went down into a tunnel without any back-up. That's just basic police procedure, Shawn. You wait for the damn back-up."

"There wasn't time…" Shawn returned quietly after a moment, his mind finally beginning to work properly again. "I had to find Lassie…"

"And who, exactly, were you planning on finding you?" Henry demanded.

"I wasn't expecting to get stabbed with a screwdriver, Dad."

"Of course you weren't!" Henry snapped. "You never expect it, Shawn. But you plan for it! You wait for the damn back-up!"

"Fine!" Shawn shot back, his stomach tensing so painfully it almost knocked his breath out. "Next time, I'll wait for the damn back-up! Will that make you happy…or at least shut up?"

Henry stood up again and stormed to the door, flinging it open and stepping into the hallway.

"Happier than getting a 4 AM phone call that my idiot son is bleeding to death in some tunnel." He growled over his shoulder, then shut the door and was gone.

Shawn groaned as he fell even deeper into the pillow, resting his arm across his eyes and almost blacking out again from the exertion.

A few minutes later, he heard a small sound.

Like someone hesitantly clearing their throat.

He opened his eyes again.

Juliet was standing by the bed, looking down at him.

He did the best he could to smile at her.

"Hey, Jules."

"Hey, Shawn." She smiled palely back, trying her best to sound casual. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got stabbed with a screwdriver. Twice."

She sat down on the edge of the bed, her hand resting on his leg.

"What the heck happened down there?" She asked.

"I don't know...I got stabbed with a screwdriver. Twice. It all happened so fast…how'd you even find me, anyway?"

"Carlton's cell phone. It got wedged in the wall somehow. A crime scene guy found it."

"Lassie's phone…?" Shawn murmured, more of the pieces falling into place in his head. "I had it in my pocket. It must have fallen out…"

"But why was it there to begin with? Why was Carlton there at all?"

"I don't know…" Shawn's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, trying to remember. But his thoughts were still sluggish. "He called me, drunk. He said something about beating me…he cracked a case before I did."

"The John Doe we found at the warehouse?"

"No…no. It was the bank robberies. The ones we've been working on for two months. Three banks robbed without being held up, no one knows how. He said he knew how they did it…it had something to do with the warehouse."

"What?"

"I don't know. Then he said something about blood on the wall…and the line went dead. That's when I called you."

"It had something to do with the bank robbery case…" Juliet repeated, whispering to herself.

Suddenly, her eyes got wide.

"Shawn, we got the I.D. back on the John Doe an hour ago. He had a record, petty larceny stuff, so we got a hit on the finger prints. His name was Dylan Prost. Guess where he worked."

"I don't know."

"First National Bank. The second bank that got robbed."

She stood up and practically ran to the door.

"I've got to tell the Chief! It's a place to start, at least."

She was out the door, but a moment later stuck her head back in.

"I'll be back later."

Then, she spun around again and was gone for real.

Shawn lay completely still for a long minute, staring at the ceiling, trying to clear his mind.

Finally, he sat up.

Slowly.

A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him.

He braced himself, gritting his teeth against the desire to pass out, and tried again.

Carefully, he put his feet on the floor and stood up.

Each step he took sent a searing jab of pain through his stomach, but he kept going….out his door…down the hall…

He had to stop every few steps at first to catch his breath and make sure he hadn't ripped out his stitches, but he finally got the hang of it.

He only had to look in three rooms before he finally managed to find someone who had left a pile of clothes folded neatly in a chair. They were sound asleep in the bed on the other side of the room.

He quickly grabbed the clothes and headed into the bathroom.

Of course, the pants were two sizes too big and the shirt was so large on him it was laughable, but they would have to do.

He dressed slowly, carefully, and emerged again.

No one stopped him or even looked twice in his direction as he slowly walked out of the hospital and flagged a cab.

When Henry finally went back to Shawn's room about ten minutes later, only to discover it was abandoned, it didn't take him long to figure out what his son was up to.

"Damn it, Shawn." He groaned, grabbing his jacket off the chair and heading out the door again. "Why the hell can't you ever wait for the damn back-up?"