A/N: Thank you for all your lovely reviews! I'm loving writing this story, so I hope you'll enjoy this part as well...

To say that both Shawn and Lassiter were alive by the time Henry came back home was a surprise, would be gravely understated. Henry had honestly believed that the detective would have left or that he would have found one of the two men – it still didn't feel right to call his son a 'man' though – at least somewhat incapacitated. As it happened Shawn was sleeping and Carlton was reading through the police files he'd brought with him, although he did look extraordinarily relieved when he caught sight of Henry.

"I'll just be going then," Carlton said as he swiftly stood up, his long legs almost getting tangled in his hurry to get out of the house.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" Henry asked, trying to keep the amusement from showing on his face.

The detective was torn. It was clear that he didn't know if it would be impolite to turn away dinner, and while he may be hungry it meant that he would have to stay in the house he was so desperately trying to leave.

"Well, I…" Lassiter's voice faded as he took a tentative step backwards towards the door, clearly hoping that Henry hadn't noticed.

"I've got steaks," Henry lured, finding it harder to keep the smirk off his face when the other man looked positively frantic. He was a good detective, making his face that much harder to read, though Henry didn't doubt for one second that he would indeed like a home cooked meal. Unfortunately said meal came with the price of staying in a Spencer's household, which clearly was a downside for Lassiter. "Come on," Henry finally continued, "I've got two steaks here and Shawn sure as hell can't have one of them at the moment."

Lassiter finally relented. He didn't look particularly happy about his decision as he walked with heavy steps back into the kitchen, his eyes diverted from the living room. As Henry started unpacking the bags from his trip to the mall, he noticed Carlton put the files on the kitchen table, putting his hands on the wooden surface and leaning down heavily.

"Tough case?" Henry said questionably as he started to prepare the steaks, purposefully keeping his tone disinterested.

"Yeah."

Carlton needn't say more as being a cop himself Henry knew how tough it could get. He remembered what the detective had told him the night before when he'd brought Shawn home and that he'd already looked anxious about the case. A second body was never welcomed and certainly didn't bring the detectives working the case any closer to finding peace.

They didn't talk much after that, Lassiter choosing to look through the files as Henry prepared dinner. Conversation was stunted during dinner and it didn't take a genius to see that Lassiter was exhausted.

"I hope he wasn't too much trouble," Henry said with a nod towards the living room.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Lassiter answered offhandedly and Henry couldn't help but chuckle slightly at his tone. "I got some of the pills in him Guster had left, so he'll need something to eat pretty soon."

"Already got a soup brewing," Henry said as he pointed behind him to where a pot was sat on the stove.

Lassiter nodded and continued to eat in silence.

As soon as they'd finished dinner, Lassiter thanked him and quickly gathered his things and headed for the door.

"Detective," Henry called after him just as he was about to get into his car. Lassiter stopped and looked up at him, "Don't forget to get some rest."

A brief nod later and Lassiter was sat behind the wheel, the car soon leaving the driveway.

Henry turned his attention to the soup and upon noting that it was finished, he turned off the stove and headed into the living room, stopping when he got a look at his son. Shawn was pale just like he'd been before, looking so ridiculously young as he lay cramped on the couch, huddled together as tightly as he could.

Seeing his son like this, Henry remembered what he'd looked like when he'd been just seventeen. Madeline had left at this point and Shawn had barely spoken to him. He'd kept his distance, spending most of his time in his room, coming down only when he had to or to go to Gus's, though Henry did know that most times he would merely climb out of his bedroom window to go see his best friend. Henry had come home late from a shift one evening, only to find Shawn sat on the couch in the living room instead of being locked inside his room. It had taken some careful words before his son would open up to him, but he'd got the general gist. Gus was away for the week and school had been hell. At that time a lecture had been on the tip of Henry's tongue, but one look in Shawn's eyes had told him clearer than any words ever could that that was not what his son was in need of. Instead he'd sat next to him on the couch and they'd watched television, just like when Shawn was nine years old and at least thought that his dad was cool some of the time.

Shawn looked much the same now. Still that seventeen year old kid, vulnerable and so goddamn confused he didn't know which way to turn. Henry eased himself down to sit on the coffee table and looked at his son for a moment. He reached a hand out unconsciously and left it hovering just a couple of inches above Shawn's cheek, desperate to provide some sort of comfort, to show that not so deep down he did care. But he couldn't. He had never been the parent to consistently provide hugs and kisses. He withdrew his hand with a sigh, instead opting for pulling the blankets a little higher up Shawn's shoulders. Shawn shifted slightly, mumbling in his sleep, his eyelids fluttering and Henry decided that he might as well try to wake his son all the way up now that he'd already started. The soup was ready after all.

"Shawn," Henry said, trying to keep his voice soft, though it was a trying feat after all these years mostly yelling, growling or snapping at his son.

He reached forward and gave Shawn's shoulder a light squeeze which was apparently enough to draw him out of his slumber. A miracle considering how hard it had been to wake the kid when he was younger.

"Dad?" Shawn's voice slurred as he looked groggily up at his father, a hand already rising to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"Sit up, okay? I've got you some soup," Henry couldn't stand watching Shawn battling for control over his shaking limbs, so he quickly offered his assistance in getting Shawn to sit up.

Shawn looked far from happy about the new arrangement.

"Feel any better?" Henry asked when he returned from the kitchen with the soup.

"A little," Shawn said quietly, his nose scrunching in disgust as he looked in the bowl that Henry handed him.

"Yes, you have to eat it," Henry said quickly before Shawn had the chance to ask.

Shawn eyed the soup sceptically, sniffing quietly before bringing the spoon down into the steaming liquid. As Henry sat down on the couch next to him he tried not to notice how Shawn's eyes were red rimmed and how his breathing was slightly laboured. Instead he leant back against the couch and picked up the remote control, turning on the television, reminiscent of all those years ago.

"Did you make this?" Shawn asked after a few minutes of silence, his voice still far too quiet and almost hesitant.

"Yeah," Henry replied, seemingly keeping his attention on the television even though most of his mind was on his son.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shawn nod lightly before dipping the spoon back into the soup. Henry draped his right arm over the back of the couch, not missing how Shawn's gaze flickered towards the hand now dangerously close to his right shoulder. A soft smiled played on Henry's lips at his son's confused gaze and he turned his head slightly away from Shawn so he wouldn't see.

Shawn didn't finish all of the soup, a combination of fear of nausea returning and pain in his throat no doubt being the major factors in play. It was worrying Henry more than he was letting on how sick Shawn was and how ill he looked. He was bearing a disturbingly close resemblance to a zombie and this was something Henry would rather have avoided.

His son's eyes were drooping by the time he'd finished up out in the kitchen again but a quick ruffle of his hair had him awake quicker than any words would have.

"Here," Henry said as he held a bag out towards Shawn who looked at the bag sceptically.

"What is it?" He asked as he raised one hand towards the bag.

"I stopped by your apartment and got a few of your things," Henry explained and Shawn finally took the bag, looking down at the contents strangely.

"I'm not staying here," Shawn said looking up at his father almost desperately.

"For the moment, yes, you are," Henry retorted, giving his son a look that clearly read, 'no arguments'.

Shawn looked at the bag dejectedly before he started to rifle through the contents. Henry hadn't brought a load, only gathering together a few essential items and a change of clothes. He knew he'd hit jackpot though when Shawn's face lit up fondly and he pulled out his pyjamas. If only the kid could be so happy to see him one day.

His vision was kind of blurry when he awoke, though a couple of rapid blinks helped a little bit, clearing enough for him to take in the coffee table in his father's living sitting just half a meter from his nose. He didn't particularly want to move too much as he'd just realised that he was warm and comfortable without too much pain for the first time in what felt like years. Shawn sighed and closed his eyes again, hoping to be able to fall back into a peaceful sleep. Soft, early morning sunlight was dancing in through the window behind the couch, bringing dust to life in its wake. He squinted at the display only then noticing that his eyes had opened again.

Dejectedly, he looked around the living room, noticing that his dad was nowhere to be seen. Grumbling slightly he pushed back the covers, and swung his legs to the side so he was sitting on the couch. He was very grateful for his pyjamas as they'd made the night a much warmer and nicer experience. The bag his dad had brought him was sitting next to the couch and he dragged it closer with one hand, shifting through it until he found one of his hooded jumpers. He might even admit to his father's face how happy he was about that. Shawn pulled the jumper on over the pyjamas before standing up slowly, annoyed to find his legs were still feeling pretty shaky and his head had started its own private concert featuring only heavy metal. Apparently movement was still a bad idea.

He brought a hand to search for anything useful to help keep him on his feet, finally relenting and using whatever came at hand, such as the couch, the wall and the doorframe. His dad wasn't in the kitchen either. He sniffed and squinted at the digital clock on the oven and he groaned wondering what in the world had possessed him to wake up at half past six in the morning. The walk back to the couch suddenly looked twice as long as the walk to the kitchen, but he simply refused to believe he was exhausted. Exhaustion was not the reason he just dropped down into one of the kitchen chairs and put his head on the table. No sir. He was merely resting his eyes for a moment.

Images flashed before his eyes completely and totally uninvited. Why, oh why did Lassie have to show him those crime scene photos? His mind saw no reason why it shouldn't investigate and he simply couldn't help getting sucked in. Wait. Was he seriously talking about his mind as though it was another person? Shawn groaned again, wondering if falling asleep right here in the kitchen would mean that he was a little more like his old self when he woke again. He seriously doubted it.

For once he didn't want to think about a case, certain that occupying himself with gory images and a way too vivid imagination to fill in any unwanted details would not aid his recovery in the slightest. Shawn sniffed again, bringing his arms across his chest to keep any heat from escaping. He breathed deeply through his mouth, enjoying the cocoon of warm air he'd made for himself between his chest and face.

Two bodies.

Both sliced and diced –

Stop it!

He didn't want to think about any of this. It wasn't helping the pain in his head in the slightest. It was hard, though, to force all those images out of his head once he'd allowed them access, especially since he'd not had much of a chance recently to replace them with something – anything – else. It wasn't that he wasn't used to seeing dead people – pardon, bodies – because he certainly was. No, the problem here was that he was feeling particularly horrible, he didn't even remember the last time he'd felt this bad, and a case on top of it was not helping. He wanted to focus on getting better, but his mind betrayed him as soon as there was something that caught its attention, and this case most certainly had.

Shawn jerked upright, nearly toppling off the chair when a sharp, somewhat familiar ringing broke through his mind. Yeah, and that so didn't help his headache either. As the ringing continued the realisation that it was his phone making that noise slowly dawned on him. Still seated, he turned his head a few times as he tried to locate his phone, hardly remembering when he'd last seen it.

There.

The noisy little devil was sitting innocently on the kitchen counter. Shawn glared at it before he noticed that too aggravated his headache. With a sigh he put his hands on the table, mustering up the strength to push himself back on his feet. In the meantime his phone had stopped ringing only start again a few seconds later. Who was so desperate at half past six – correction, quarter to seven in the morning? His feet felt terribly heavy as he dragged himself across the kitchen floor towards his phone.

"'Ello," he said, his voice strangely stuffy, as he finally reached the phone.

"Spencer?" Shawn groaned again. Lassie this early in the morning was not appreciated. "What in the world are you doing up?"

Shawn took the phone away from his ear for a minute to stare at it in confusion.

"Lassie," he answered in the end, "you called me. Why do that if you didn't intend for me to pick up the phone?"

"Don't be a smartass," Lassiter chastised. Shawn closed his eyes and leant heavily against the kitchen counter, hoping that it was enough to keep him upright. "Look, Spencer, you…you were…"

Shawn waited. Patience had never been his thing but at the moment he was willing to simply forget that he was even talking on the phone. He could hear what he believed was Juliet's voice in the background but he couldn't make out any words.

Whatever she might have said obviously had an effect on the Head Detective as he finally continued, "You were right."

"Thank you, Lassie. Can I go now?" Shawn asked, at the moment not caring all too much what Lassiter had just said to him.

"What? No, you can't go now," Lassiter spluttered and Shawn didn't even need his avid imagination to know that the detective was starting to turn a pale shade of red, or possibly purple. "You were right about the victims."

"And that surprises you, why?" Shawn questioned, allowing a small smirk to play along his lips despite his ill-being.

"Spencer," and that was certainly Lassiter's warning tone that often indicated that he was also grinding his teeth. Some would also say that it was the tread-carefully tone, but Shawn disregarded that. "We got IDs on both of the victims and they were married."

"Uh huh," Shawn grunted as he pressed his free hand against his forehead, his headache growing worse the longer he remained vertical. "Tell me something I don't know." Shawn was actually quite sure he heard Lassiter grind his teeth that time, "Oh, and don't grind your teeth so much, you'll wear down the enamel in your molars."

He was met with silence and he wondered if maybe the detective had given up or if he was counting backwards from ten. It turned out to be the latter.

"Their names are Norman and Marlene Oakville," Lassiter continued and Shawn had no doubt he was trying to merely get through this briefing as quickly as humanely possible. "The Chief thought you should know."

Obviously it was very important for the detective to make sure that Shawn knew that he certainly wasn't the one who wanted to make the call.

"And?" Shawn prompted, waiting for Lassiter to say something that would blow this case wide open.

"And nothing," Lassiter said, his tone a clear indicator as to what he thought about the lack of progress. "That's all we've got."

Shawn sniffed and dragged a hand over his eyes, annoyed at how they kept watering lately.

"Alright. Cool. Peace out," Shawn said finally.

Lassiter might have had more to say but Shawn hung up the phone before he got the chance. Shawn put the phone back on the counter and started his long and daunting journey back to the living room. Lying down sounded like an immensely good idea.

Lassiter's presence at the house the day before had unnerved him more than he was willing to admit. The fact that he hadn't known that his father and best friend intended to leave him with Lassiter of all people was what had made it so much worse when he'd woken up. Yes, maybe he had been a teensy bit hostile, but he was ill and Lassiter was definitely the last person he'd suspected to sit in his dad's living room, especially when Shawn was the only other occupant in the house. It had been uncomfortable. He'd actually felt enormously unsafe in his childhood home, the living room suddenly stiflingly claustrophobic.

He paused in the doorway, leaning his body against the frame of the door as he tried to battle the dizzy spell that had just claimed him. He raised his head and waited for his vision to settle, looking towards the couch which seemed to be miles away rather than meters. He swallowed as he tried to calculate how many steps he would have to take to return to the warm cocoon of his blankets. His raw throat tickled and his breath caught in his throat. It was enough to bring on another bout of coughing. He doubled over as the coughs tore through him, keeping on hand firmly against the doorframe to keep him from falling forwards. By the time the coughs wore down to nothing more than wheezy breaths the floor looked a million times more inviting than the faraway couch.

His legs gave out and he didn't try too hard to stop his descent to the floor. At least lying on the floor – though a hard surface – he wouldn't be standing anymore and that in itself was definitely an improvement. He stared blearily up at the ceiling, noting distractedly that it looked pretty much the same as it had when he'd been a kid and had attempted to pretend to be a doormat so his dad wouldn't see him. And people said he hadn't matured.

The downside of the floor was that it was both hard and cold making it extremely uncomfortable. He'd been able to ignore it at first but now the cold was started to affect him again making involuntary shivers run through him. He rolled his head to the side and looked longingly towards the couch. He could make it, couldn't he? It wasn't that far after all. He should be able to reach it within an hour or so, give or take a few minutes.

The victims were married.

Sure he'd figured that out before but now it had actually been confirmed. Why would a random married couple be targeted for such a gruesome killing? Maybe they weren't random. Maybe they hadn't been targeted at all, but that wouldn't make sense because why go through so much trouble for some random people?

Oh no. He was doing it again. Shawn groaned and rolled onto his stomach, simultaneously bringing his hands underneath himself so that he was ready to push himself off the floor. Clearly he wasn't able to let this case go.

He managed to get as far as onto his knees before his arms started to shake. It was no wonder that his chin now hurt considering he'd already come to the conclusion that the floor was hard. He brought a hand to his now aching chin as he lay on the floor again, a bit surprised that there was no blood considering how much that fall back to the floor had hurt.

Moaning in pain he commenced his journey back to vertical again, though his arms were even less cooperative now than they had been moments before. He could already feel that this was not going to work when he didn't even get to his knees this time before his arms started to shake. Why wasn't his dad up at six in the morning when he actually might possibly need him to be? As he lay on the floor yet again Shawn realised that he might need a different tactic.

He eyed the doorframe not that far away from him, deciding that it would work perfectly as a crutch to get him on his feet. He wiggled slightly on the floor, forcing his arms and legs to cooperate long enough for him to drag his way over to the frame. He resisted the insignificant urge to shout out in the jubilation once he reached his destination because, quite honestly, he was not feeling particularly happy right now. He rolled onto his back and scooted backwards until his back was against the frame, and then with the grace of Sid the Sloth he pushed himself upwards. This may just be the most degrading moment of his life.

"Shawn, what are you doing?"

With a yelp of surprise he fell back down to the floor. He'd been so close to actually being upright. Damn his father for coming now. Sure he'd needed him earlier but he was doing fine just then. A little bit of help from a doorframe and he was sorted.

"Da-ad," he whined. Everything hurt ten times worse now and new aches were now added to the previous ones. Who knew falling down on the floor so many times could result in so much pain?

"You're an idiot, kid," Henry scolded gruffly as he crouched down next to Shawn, who was squinting up at him through his lashes.

"Really? I thought I was doing pretty good then," Shawn said, trying to sound like his usual snarky self, but it was dreadfully ruined by the slight hitching breath evident in his voice.

"What were you doing anyway?" Dad asked as he slipped a hand behind his back to help him off the floor.

"Ow," Shawn moaned as he tried to do most of the work of getting on his feet, but even though he would never ever admit it, his dad was the one doing most of the work. "My phone rang."

"I don't care," Henry retorted. He sounded angry but there was something else hinted in his voice. He was frustrated with his son, that much Shawn knew – he had been all of his life after all – but there was also a touch of worry and concern, and Shawn wasn't sure why that made him almost want to thank his dad for helping him off the floor. Almost. He wasn't a big cry baby and he wasn't in desperate need of his dad. No, he simply needed a crutch that could do most of the work of getting him back to the couch and his dad was doing a marvellous job of fulfilling that duty.

Shawn practically fell back against the cushions of the couch, grudgingly having to admit that his dad was right. He really was an idiot. His head hurt a bazillion times worse than when he'd woken up, making those annoying tears spring to his eyes again. As though this situation wasn't bad enough. He sniffed and brought a hand up to rub against his eyes, noticing then that his hand was shaking again. He drew in a sharp breath which only resulted in starting another coughing fit and his chest already hurt.

He let his head fall forward to rest in his hands as he tried to gasp in air, feeling it tearing at his raw throat as it passed into his lungs. He felt a warm hand settle on his back and he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to welcome the comfort it provided. He didn't need comforting. He knew he could keep telling himself this but that didn't mean that he had to use his already low energy supply to bat the hand away or move away from the touch.

"Can I get you anything?" Henry asked after a while, his voice surprisingly soft, a word Shawn would have never thought could be associated with his father.

Shawn shook his head limply, scrunching his eyes together as another wave of pain flashed through his head.

"I can heat some of the soup up for you," Henry offered, his hand now rubbing soothing circles across his son's back.

"It's okay," Shawn whispered, forcing the words out in one breath. "Do you know if Gus is coming by today?"

"He said he might stop by this morning before going to work," Henry answered as he stood up, eying his son critically. "Do you want to go see a doctor?"

Shawn's head snapped up – way too quickly – and he blinked rapidly to try and clear his vision and stop the room from swimming. He was finally able to look at his father and see that he was completely serious.

"No," he said hastily.

"If you're sure," Henry sighed. "I'll be back in a bit."

Henry left the living room and Shawn fell against the back cushions, utterly exhausted from his morning expedition. He had an inkling suspicion that his dad had gone to get that dreaded thermometer again and he was proven right when Henry returned, thermometer in one hand and a glass of juice in the other.

Shawn wordlessly held his hand out for whatever his dad wanted him to take first. Thermometer apparently was first on the day's agenda. With a slight huff of defeat he put the thermometer in his mouth to rest underneath his tongue. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes, relishing in the momentary lack of pain his lack of movement provided. He felt the couch dip as his father sat down next to him again, but he didn't open his eyes or move his head, not wanting to disturb his momentary peace. He knew Henry was studying him, but it was easier to let him than try to divert his attention.

It was Henry who finally removed the thermometer when Shawn neglected to do it himself. His father was quiet, so quiet that Shawn cracked one eye open to peer at his father.

"How bad?" Shawn finally asked, his voice not much more than a croaky whisper.

"Not worse than before, but not really that much better either," Henry said, huffing a sigh as he glared at the thermometer. He pointed towards the glass sitting on the coffee table, "Drink the juice."

Shawn shifted his gaze to the glass. Movement was an imperative if he had to get that glass.

"Do I have to move?" Shawn moaned and he heard his father elicit a small chuckle. "I'm not joking."

"I know you're not," Henry commented as he leant forward and lifted the glass off the table and held it out towards Shawn.

Shawn accepted it reluctantly, annoyed that he had to lift his head if he didn't want to choke, and he certainly did not want that. He'd already hacked up his lungs a few times this morning; there was no need for a repeat session.

He was extremely grateful that the knock on the door that came a few moments later came before he had a chance to take a sip of the juice. Otherwise, knowing his luck, he wouldn't have been surprised if the person outside had knocked right when he'd taken the first sip, thereby startling him and hey presto, another coughing attack.

Shawn remained on the couch as Henry left to see who was at the door but Shawn already had a sneaking suspicion that it was his best friend, who'd got up early to go see his best friend before going to his job. While his dad was out of the room he briefly looked around for a potted plant wherein he could pour some the juice, but he overcame the urge to not cause his throat anymore pain and instead took a gulp of the liquid, wincing as it scratched at his throat.

It was indeed Gus who had been at the door and it wasn't long before his friend came into the living room with a concerned frown on his face. Henry hadn't come back and Shawn was secretly – or not so secretly – glad to have a moment with his best friend without his dad leering over his shoulder.

"Hey, buddy, how're you doing?" Gus asked as he sat down on the couch where Henry had been moments before.

"I'm super," Shawn answered as cheerfully as he could muster, but it sounded a bit off as his voice resembled that of a seventy years old chain smoker.

"Of course," Gus retorted, taking the now empty glass from Shawn's grasp and put it back on the table.

"Gus?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you do me a favour?"

"Name it."

Gus really should have learned by now never to utter those words to Shawn.

"Can you drive me to the crime scene?"

Thanks for reading! :)