Three hours later, they were headed back to Gus' apartment. Shawn dozed, bleary from the prescription painkillers. Gus glanced over at his best friend and sighed. He was really worried. It turned out that the hand wasn't broken – the diagnosis was two dislocated fingers and a cracked knuckle - but either way, such a physically damaging display of frustration wasn't like Shawn at all. It just confirmed what Gus already knew: Shawn wasn't coping with Henry's death as well as he'd like everyone to believe.

Gus pulled up in front of his place and gently shook Shawn's leg. "Hey, Shawn. Wake up. We're here."

Shawn startled. "Dad?" Gus' stomach twisted at the hope in his friend's voice.

"No, Shawn. It's me." Gus watched Shawn as realization dawned. "Sorry," Gus murmured apologetically.

Shawn smiled sadly. "Not your fault, buddy."

"Come on." Gus got out and walked around the car so that he could help his groggy friend to his feet.

For the third time in as many days, Shawn allowed Gus to support the bulk of his weight. Once they finally made it into the apartment Shawn collapsed in a heap on the couch. "Tired," he admitted softly.

"I'm sure," Gus agreed. He knew very well that Shawn hadn't been sleeping, even though his stubborn friend had been trying to hide that fact. "Why don't you take my bed tonight? I feel bad that you've been out here on the couch."

As he had every other time, Shawn shook his head vehemently at the suggestion. "I'm good."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Shawn-"

Before Gus could finish the thought, Shawn winced theatrically and shifted his right arm in the sling. "Do I really have to wear this?" he whined. For the first time in days he sounded almost like the Shawn that Gus had known for 25 years. Almost.

Happy to play along for the moment, Gus rolled his eyes and replied, "Yes you do, since you decided to use the wall for a punching bag the doctor says you need to keep from using that hand for at least the next few days. And the only way to keep you from using it is to keep it immobilized."

"I'm not a child," Shawn said sulkily.

"Not technically," Gus retorted with a grin.

Shawn pouted, but Gus could see a hint of the old familiar gleam in his eyes. He smiled. "Get some rest, Shawn."

Cradling his bandaged hand against his chest, Shawn stared upwards, continuing his intensive study of Gus' ceiling. He'd been staring at it for hours already and sighed heavily. I don't want to get up. I can't face today. I was hoping today wouldn't come. But it had. The day we bury my father. God, I don't want to do this.

As if reading his friend's thoughts, Gus suddenly appeared in the doorway, already dressed in a black suit. "Shawn? It'll be time to leave soon."

Shawn's hazel eyes were wide and shone brightly, and it wasn't lost on Gus that although he'd come close, his friend had not actually shed a single tear since his father's death four days before. Gus knew that eventually he would break down, and he only hoped to be there to support Shawn when it finally happened.

"I don't want to," Shawn's voice was hardly audible.

"I know you don't, buddy. Believe me, I know. But we have to. The funeral is in two hours."

Shawn's new phone began to vibrate across the table, and he squeezed his eyes shut in response. "Who is it?"

Gus looked at the display. "Not sure." Warily, he picked it up and hit the call button. "Hello?" After a moment he relaxed. Eyes still closed, Shawn was only semi-listening as Gus spoke again. "Yes ma'am, he's right here."

Shawn began shaking his head vigorously as Gus held the phone toward him. "Shawn!" Gus hissed. "It's your mother!" They had been trying to reach Madeleine for days, but she was traveling overseas and Shawn had yet to speak with her.

Eyes full of emotion, Shawn accepted the phone with his good hand. "Mom?"

"Shawn," confirmed the voice on the other end. "What's going on, baby? Are you okay? I'm sorry, I just now got your message. I've been in Moscow for the last week and there was a bit of a language barrier with the hotel staff."

"It's okay." Shawn simply didn't have the energy to mince words, and so he said softly, "Dad had a heart attack a few days ago. Mom, he…died." He closed his eyes. Every time he said the dreaded words they became a little more real, but certainly no less painful.

There was a shocked silence as Maddie tried to process what she'd just been told. "Oh, no. Oh, Goose. My poor baby, I'm so sorry." Sorrow was apparent as Madeleine asked softly, "How are you holding up?"

"The funeral is today," Shawn whispered, as if it were explanation enough.

"I'm so sorry," his mother said again. "I wish I could be there. I'll book the next flight out, but I won't make it until tomorrow at the earliest."

Shawn managed a watery laugh. "No, Mom, don't worry. It's okay. I'm okay. Gus is here."

"I know he is, baby, but I should be there too." Maddie sighed, frustration and grief apparent even over thousands of miles.

"Don't worry, Mom." Shawn forced a note of stubborn resolve into his voice. "I'm-" He stopped. "I'll be fine." As much as he wanted to see his mother, he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with long-unresolved issues at a time when he was already feeling vulnerable.

"I'll get there as soon as I can, okay? A few days, at most." She paused. "I love you so much, Goose."

"I love you too, Mom. Take care." Shawn hung up and stared at the phone in his hand. Slowly he looked up at Gus, who was patiently standing nearby. "She's in Moscow," he said numbly.

Gus wasn't surprised that Madeleine wouldn't make it to the funeral. He had already counted on being Shawn's primary source of support. "I'll be there," he reminded his friend.

"I know, buddy. And I'm glad." Shawn stood and fumbled with his sling. Gus helped him ease his arm out. "I'm not wearing that," Shawn said flatly.

"Okay," Gus nodded. On this day, of all days, he wasn't going to argue. "Whatever you want."

An hour later, Shawn was showered and dressed and both men sat in the car outside the chapel. "You ready?" Gus studied Shawn's weary face carefully.

Shawn shrugged. He'd refused to let Gus re-wrap his injured hand and although the swelling had gone down, deep purple contusions stood out in vivid contrast to pale skin. He looked exhausted, and the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes rivaled the bruising on his knuckles. "Does it matter?" Without waiting for an answer, Shawn awkwardly reached across his body to open the door with his left hand. "Let's get this over with."