Thank you to my hard-working Beta SilverLuna.
And Ghostbusters and Alf aren't mine, but they are awesome. Also, not mine, the movies Waiting for Guffman, and Waiting to Exhale.
Thank you for your patience in the long delay regarding this chapter. It was not intentional and hopefully won't happen again. I do fully intend on completing this story no matter how many delays I have. Thank you for your kind words and reviews!
Henry sat holding his head in hands. He was tired, his body stiff and pained. He was also hungry, but couldn't stand the thought of eating anything right now.
He wished he was still sitting out on his boat, feeling peaceful and warmed by sunshine, a thick sandwich in his hand. His stomach lurched thinking of earlier. Maybe if he hadn't fallen asleep or sat out in his boat all day, but instead had come home, then maybe Shawn would be asleep on the couch, sleeping late into the afternoon then waking up and asking for pancakes. Henry would have complained, made him get up and help him work in the yard or helped him clean out the attic, but he would have made him a plate of chocolate chip pancakes first. Then they could have sorted stuff before carrying away the boxes to get rid of. He was still sure Shawn had intended to put the boxes in the garage instead of actually clearing them out or organizing the contents.
Henry shifted again in the hard plastic chair in the waiting room, and winced as it pulled his back. Sitting on the floor, hunched over his bloody, unconscious son earlier, had not done his back any favors. At the time, as he had mopped the blood off Shawn's pale face, and rested his hand on his chest, making sure he kept breathing steadily, Henry hadn't felt his back cramping. It wasn't until he was sitting here that he realized. He huffed and stood up to stretch, wincing at the spasm on the left side.
He saw the nurse at the Emergency Room desk look up and watch him for a moment before a ringing phone pulled her attention away. Henry looked out the windows, it was dark beyond them and as he stood near they showed only his reflection against a black background. He saw the bags under his eyes, but then a dark stain against his cheekbone caught his attention. His fingers trembled minutely as he touched it. He dropped his hand and turned towards the desk.
"Where is your restroom?" he asked, his voice rough. The nurse politely pointed the way and gave him directions.
He locked the door behind himself and stared in the mirror, before wetting a paper towel. He brought it up and rubbed the dried blood off his face.
Shawn lay completely still, unlike his usual, constantly moving body. Even in sleep he would shuffle around. He wasn't allowed to sleep in his parents' bed after a nightmare, because Shawn would kick and roll, keeping both him and Madeleine awake and exhausted come morning.
Henry remembered when Shawn was around six and Maddie had left for the weekend, doing some profiling seminar in Oregon. Shawn had awoken at two am, screaming. Henry had jolted out of bed, fumbling to grab his gun and racing into his son's bedroom. No one was in there aside from Shawn who was kicking and screaming, twisted in his covers. Henry set his gun atop the dresser, safety clicked on, then knelt at the side of the bed. He was leaning forward to grasp Shawn's shoulder to shake him awake, when Shawn let out a yell. 'DADDY, NO!' Henry sat his son up, shaking him, 'Shawn, wake up, I'm here!' His eyes had snapped open and he threw himself at Henry, sobbing.
Henry had cradled him, soothing him, rubbing his back. 'What did you dream, son?' Shawn had been unable to answer, clinging desperately as he cried. Henry hadn't seen this kind of reaction in a while since Shawn had stopped having night terrors. Finally, Shawn had pulled back, wiping snot onto his pajama sleeve, 'I dreamed you were gone, and never coming back.' Henry had gathered his son, and assured him that wouldn't happen.
He finally brought Shawn into his own bed for the rest of the night. Shawn had been clingy, never revealing exactly what he had dreamed, as he had pressed close to Henry that night. It was the only time since Shawn was a toddler that Henry hadn't minded having him in his bed. He had wiped the tears from his cheeks and the hair back from his face and lay watching him sleep peacefully.
As Henry did the same thing, 25 years later, wiping tear tracks off his son's cheek, and pushing his sweaty hair away from his face. Only this time instead of being able to put him in the bed and hold him and comfort him, and watch him sleep, he was forced to hold his neck still, and clean off his blood and regulate his breathing as he lay so still. Henry wiped a tear from his own face, smearing some of Shawn's blood against his cheek.
Now, hours later in the hospital, he cleaned the spot of blood off. He turned the hot water on, and began scrubbing his hands, again. Scrubbing them over and over, and under his nails trying to get all the blood off. His son's blood.
Henry shifted in his chair, agitated at the forced separation from his son. He was back in the waiting room, every single second the slowest he had ever experienced. He wanted, no, he NEEDED to know what was happening. He wasn't sure if he son was lying there paralyzed from a broken neck or dying from a traumatic brain injury. He gulped, he had seen the confusion in the hazel eyes and heard the child-like speech of his thirty year old son as he barely recognized his own father.
He became inexplicably angry as he thought of Shawn. How he had gotten so badly hurt merely falling down the stairs? It was absurd, ridiculous and utterly stupid! He should have walked away with a sprained ankle and later he and Henry would have laughed it off over steaks and beer. But, no, his irresponsible, idiotic son had to damn near give himself brain damage! Henry sighed and checked the time. He had called Gus about ten minutes ago. He hadn't even thought of it until he had been steered towards a chair that was obviously designed to inflict pain, not ease it, and told to wait to hear how his son was doing. He had sat in the waiting room, staring blankly at the doors the gurney had disappeared behind. He had suddenly remembered Gus then and pulled the phone from his pocket and called him. Gus had answered and immediately begun yelling, chastising Shawn until Henry interrupted informing him Shawn had hurt himself and was in the hospital. Gus had assured him he would be there as soon as he was able.
Henry leaned his head back and let out a sigh, blocking out the sounds of the other people waiting. The baby crying in the arms of a tired mother; the concerned parents soothing a young boy with an icepack on his forehead to ease a fever; the teenager huddled with her friend, tiredly shivering. A young man with a bloody towel to his face; a couple sitting together, the wife fussing over her husband's swollen wrist; a older woman waiting alone, dozing in a wheelchair in the corner. A few people anxiously were waiting for news on their loved ones, a few families huddled together drawing strength and comfort from their companions, a few people were waiting alone, sick or in pain; scared. Henry didn't care about any of them. He almost burst out laughing as he counted the hats, so that he could be prepared to quiz Shawn.
The wail of approaching sirens made people shift and begin glancing towards the ambulance bay in curiosity. The ambulance slid in and there was an immediate bustle of activity, doctors and nurses running about, technicians wheeling a gurney in, a glimpse of a moaning person who was so covered in blood and equipment the sex and age was unrecognizable. Everyone's attention was drawn to the morbid sight. A hysterical woman quickly followed, screaming a name as the nurse set to getting her seated with a sheaf of papers to complete. Henry looked down and saw a similar set in his lap, still mostly uncompleted. Henry felt sympathy as the woman cried, staring at the swinging doors that held the fate of the sick and injured behind them. He looked down at the uncompleted paperwork and saw the red and white lights swirling across his lap.
He closed his eyes.
The lights shifted to the familiar red and blue behind his eyelids as his police cruiser raced up to the friendly house. Flower baskets hung cheerily from the porch. A bike tipped against the garage, a football laying in the grass. The warm lights spilled onto the lawn, making the home look warm and inviting. Henry raced up the driveway, his partner keeping close, their hands on their service weapons. Henry motioned to Ramirez to knock. He cautiously tried to glance through a side window. The door cracked open, a little girl was crying, clutching a stuffed doll. Her wide eyes looked up at the two policemen on her doorstep. As Ramirez crouched down to speak to her, a crash sounded from inside the house, a scream accompanying it. Henry pulled his weapon and charged in, his partner following, slamming the door shut and gently pushing the girl to the side.
As he rounded the corner into the kitchen, the home's owners, the parents, were engaged in a fist fight, the husband knocking his wife onto the floor, considering the woman's bruises and black eye, not for the first time. Henry felt a wave of sick revolt in his stomach. "Freeze, SBPD!" At the request the man had become enraged and thrown a plate, catching Ramirez in the shoulder as he tried to dodge the propelled ceramic. Henry charged forward, his weapon pointed accordingly. "Down on the ground, drop to your knees! Hands on your head!" They had subdued the raving husband, called for backup and an ambulance.
After, they had bundled the abusive husband into the back of the patrol car and gone to the aid of the wife, Henry had crouched down, assuring her she and her daughter were safe, it was then he discerned her cries of distress were in regards to her son. They had found him in his bedroom, badly beaten. Sirens screamed as backup and medics arrived. Ramirez going out to direct them, while Henry stayed with the boy.
He was about 13, a few years older than his own son. He could make out the underlying bruises. He sat with him, trying to soothe his moans of pain. "It's okay, buddy. We're gonna help you, it will be all right." Henry couldn't help but think of his son who was probably asleep in his bed, wrapped in his Ghostbusters sheets, clutching his stuffed Alf. But lying there, unharmed, knowing his father would never hit him, ever. The boy opened his eyes and stared at Henry. "Lizzy OK?" Henry frowned, "Is that your sister?" Seeing the small nod, Henry smiled at the boy, "She's fine. She's with your mom right now. You are all going to be fine." But they hadn't been.
Henry had gone to the hospital to pick up the report the next morning to file the medicals in with the case paperwork. The doctor had run down a list of injuries on both the boy and his mother. Henry had gone in to get the kid's statement and had seen his head turned away, a dark bruise behind his ear. The doctor had followed him in and seen where Henry was staring. "Battle's Sign we call it. It indicates his skull fracture." The doctor had told him in a low voice. Henry was sickened that a father could beat his own son hard enough to break his skull. "Will he be all right?"
Gus reached out and touched Mr. Spencer's shoulder, thinking he was sleeping, but as his eyes flew open seconds later, full of sadness and worry, he knew he hadn't been. "Mr. Spencer."
"Gus," Henry sighed. He straightened up and moved his hat from the seat next to him, indicating Gus to sit down. He felt a bit of relief at having someone here for support and someone to empathize with. Someone who had also worried for the past 25 years over the same person.
"Have you heard how . . . " Henry cut Gus off before he could finish asking the question.
"No, no news. I guess they are still . . . working on him or something." In his head, Henry knew that these things took time. But he was so anxious to get some news, to be with his son, to see him sit up and grin at him, to hear he was going to be fine.
Gus settled into the chair next to him. He looked at Mr. Spencer concerned. "What happened? Where was he? Where did you find him? How bad was he hurt?" He rattled off questions until Henry wearily held up a hand.
"Gus, please." Henry sighed. "Shawn apparently fell down the attic steps, while carrying some boxes. I found him in the house." Henry left out the part where he found him curled in his closet, unresponsive. "He was . . . he was hurt pretty bad. Hit his head. Maybe broke his leg. I don't know how he managed."
Gus gulped and paled. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God, I was there! I stopped by the house. I was . . . I was looking for him, he . . . no one answered the door. Oh God, he was there and hurt the whole time?!" Gus felt sick with guilt and worry. His hands clenched into fists.
Henry sighed and patted Gus' arm. "Stop feeling guilty. There's no way you could have known. It's over and done with. No wishing will make us go back in time and be there to help him. We're here now, and . . . " Henry brushed the knees of his pants with his palm to cover their nervous quivering. "Gus, he'll be fine."
Gus nodded in agreement, "Right, it's Shawn. He's always fine." Gus looked around, feeling his stomach churn when he was the bloody towel laid on some guy's face. He dropped his eyes to the unfinished form Mr. Spencer had. He reached over and grabbed the clipboard. "Here, let me help fill these out."
And Henry let him, knowing it made Gus feel better, more useful. The sat in silence after that, only snapping their heads up at the squeak of nurses' shoes, every time praying for an update on Shawn, only to be disappointed.
A buzzing ringtone sounded from Henry's pants. It took him a few moments to identify the sound before frowning and pulling Shawn's vibrating phone out of his pocket. He pressed the button to answer. "Hello," he gruffly answered.
"Um, hello . . . is, is Shawn there?" a female voice asked hesitantly.
"No, this is his father." Gus raised his eyebrow as he listened. He wasn't sure at all that Shawn would appreciate his father scaring off a potential female companion by answering his phone.
"Mr. Spencer? Oh, this is Detective Juliet O'Hara. I work with Shawn. I was calling to speak with him. Is he there?" Juliet asked, confused as to why Shawn's dad would be answering his phone.
Henry sighed. He had heard quite a lot about this particular detective. His son spoke of her often, and even Gus and Lassiter had spoken fondly of her. The respect from her stern partner spoke volumes about her as part of the force.
"No, I'm afraid he's not available. He. . . he fell and hurt himself." Henry hesitated to continue. He glanced at Gus as he heard the gasp echo over the line.
"Is he all right?!" Juliet asked, concern coloring her tone, wondering what Shawn had done to himself.
Henry shook his head, "We're waiting to find out. If it's about a case, Gus is here. You can speak to him." Gus frowned hearing that, it must be someone from the department then.
"It's not about . . . yes, please," Juliet told Mr. Spencer. She hadn't called for anything important. Some small thing she wanted to clarify with Shawn regarding their last case as she went over the paperwork but she was deeply concerned to hear Shawn had hurt himself. As the phone passed hands, she figured they must be at a doctor's or hospital. "Gus? What happened?" she asked as soon as Gus came on.
"Jules," Gus sighed into the phone. He stood up and walked out into an adjoining hall of the hospital to continue the conversation. He explain what he knew, which wasn't much, how Shawn was doing, which he didn't know, and he reassured her he would call her as soon as they had an update on his condition. Juliet agreed to let the Chief and Lassiter know that Shawn was injured and hung up with Gus, leaving Gus to heave a sigh and head back to the waiting room chairs and Mr. Spencer.
He handed the phone back to Mr. Spencer. "I told her we'd let them at the station know how Shawn was when we found out. He has a lot of friends down there."
Henry nodded. Shawn always made friends wherever he went. He was suddenly aware of the nurse walking their way and brought his head up, as if willing her to come to them. He stared at her intently, holding his breath as she came ever closer until suddenly she was standing in front of them.
She stopped and paused, taking in the breathless, hopeful, anxious faces looking up at her. "Are you hear with Mr. Shawn Spencer?" At their quick nods she pointed to the clipboard. "Are you finished filling out his admitting paperwork?"
Gus felt deflated as he handed the papers to her. She quickly flicked through them, ignoring Mr. Spencer's laser like stare. Henry felt anger building, he was afraid he was going to snap or explode. He held his breath, waiting for the hammer to fall, words like, "I'm sorry to tell you" or "We did everything we could." At least it wasn't a doctor.
"He's my son! Tell us how he is!" Henry insisted. The nurse nodded then met their eyes again. She glanced at Gus, "And you are?"
"His brother!" Henry provided instantly, "Adopted." He glared daring her to deny that statement. The nurse nodded and glanced at the paperwork and back at the both of them.
"I think it would be best if you came with me." She blinked as they both sprang up to their feet anxious. She offered them a small smile. "Please follow me."