Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or To Kill a Mockingbird.

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! We are so close to the end now, but we still have our epilogue after this! Father/son bonding goodness galore in this chapter, so please be sure to read and review! Enjoy! :)

The Finch and the Mockingbird

Chapter Sixteen: If Real Men Don't Cry, Then What Does That Make Us?

Carlton Lassiter knew that Shawn Spencer made things up on a regular basis. For instance, he made up being psychic. Lassiter still hadn't figured out what his secret was, but it wasn't magic or voodoo or whatever the hell Spencer claimed. He also enjoyed altering stories about his 'heroics' in order to make himself the center of attention. He made asinine comments that didn't have anything to do with anything at all, acting as if they were completely true. At any other time, if Spencer had spun such a tale, he would have scoffed and called Shawn an attention-hog and demanded to know the true story.

But he knew that Spencer had told the truth this time. Of course, the bits about investigating psychically and communing with the spirits were utter bull crap, but Lassiter had come to expect this from the 'psychic' by this point. But the story of his short-lived but surprisingly well-executed fight with Stevens in the dry cleaners, and of the way he had stood his ground – well, metaphorically, at least – and hadn't become a groveling mess in his predicament, and especially of his bravery and resilience when he had knowingly put himself in agonizing pain, aggravating his already severe injuries, and behaving in a way that would have been difficult for someone with a badge... Well, for the first time since he'd met the fake psychic, Lassiter had no idea what to think about him or how to respond to him.

But he had to say something, and he couldn't just leave without letting Spencer know that he had done well, because even though the idiot drove him up the wall on a daily basis, Lassiter was impressed by his response to the situation. He had very likely saved both himself and his father with his actions, because Stevens could have very well shot Henry and Shawn before the rescuers had gotten there and shot the door open.

He opened his mouth to speak, but O'Hara beat him to it. Her eyes were wide. "Shawn, I..." She blinked a couple of times. Lassiter fought the urge to roll his eyes. He'd seen the looks exchanged between his partner and Spencer, and he knew from previous experience that they both had feelings for each other, and he didn't even begin to try to understand the politics between O'Hara, Spencer and the pretty brunette that Spencer had somehow conned into dating him, but this was just getting ridiculous. "I thought that your escaping from a trunk with a gunshot wound was impressive, and jumping from the back of a speeding truck onto the hood of Lassiter's car was pretty astounding, though I never got around to telling you. Didn't want your head to swell up."

Shawn grinned half-heartedly. "You were right," he said. Lassiter wondered if he'd heard right; was he admitting to having an ego, that O'Hara was right to not inflate his already too-big head? His next words confirmed that some things never changed. "It was impressive and astounding." Of course. "But I'm not sure where you're going with this... That happened months ago."

"I know, but I'm just saying that... well, I don't know if there are many trained officers who would have responded the way that you did. You were in a hell I can't even begin to imagine, and went above and beyond anything that would have been expected of you." Shawn blinked, obviously not having been ready for such a heartfelt, genuine admission. And judging by the stunned look on Juliet's face, she hadn't quite been expecting it, either.

"Um," Spencer said, and although he looked uncomfortable and his face was slightly flushed, he said, "I just did what I had to." A beat. "But thanks."

Feeling compelled to break up the surmounting awkwardness piling up in the hospital room, Lassiter stood with a grunt. "Well," he said briskly. "I think we've got what we needed. If you think of anything else, let us know. And we know where to find you if we have any more questions."

"Do you?" Shawn asked, jerking his unreadable gaze from Juliet's face and fixing Lassiter with one of his insufferable grins that said he was up to some sort of mischief – those were the grins that the head detective had learned to become very, very leery of since meeting Spencer. "Wasn't going to mention this, but I think I'll be able to finagle my way out of here in no time. That Dr. Garfield is a bit of a pushover, don't you think? I might even be back at my apartment after they fix my knee tomorrow."

Lassiter hadn't missed the sound of the door opening as Spencer talked. He hoped beyond hope that the person who walked through the door and into the obnoxious ramblings of Spencer was...

"A pushover?"

Shawn blinked, taken off guard. He had been distracted and hadn't noticed Dr. Garfield entering the room, hadn't even heard her soft knock, which showed how out of it the fake psychic really was, because – and this was something else that annoyed Lassiter to no end – he seemed to notice everything.

The pretty dark-haired woman stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest and a playful grin teasing her lips. "Just for that, I'm going to recommend keeping you here for at least an extra four days," she teased. "Maybe five, if you don't stop trying to recruit people into sneaking fast food to you."

Shawn's mouth fell open. "How?"

Dr. Garfield smirked. "Mr. Guster and your parents are actually right outside, and your friend has a large bag of fries and a strawberry shake that he claims he wasn't going to give to you against my orders..." Her eyes sparkled, but she didn't give in to Spencer's pleading look, which pleased Carlton greatly. About time he learned that he wasn't always going to get what he wanted. "Sorry, but I'm serious about keeping my patients healthy, because that's kind of my job," she said, shaking her head. "You were in critical condition yesterday morning. You just got off of IV nutrients this morning, and you were slightly malnourished and very dehydrated, and I don't think that your stomach is going to be able to handle Red Robin anytime soon."

Spencer pouted as the doctor walked over and started checking him over, while Lassiter and Juliet stood back awkwardly, not sure if they should take their leave or wait until the doctor was finished. "In all seriousness," Dr. Garfield said as she worked, checking Shawn's arm and knee, pressing lightly at his shoulder, and feeling his ribs gently, causing gasps of pain from the consultant. Spencer had been so busy trying to shield himself in humor and acting like an idiot that Carlton had briefly forgotten how badly injured he really was. He was on drugs, yes, which probably helped, but he'd been beaten badly, and he was still fighting off the infection, and his shattered kneecap hadn't been operated on yet, and even when he was joking, there was still this look in his eyes, haunted and terrified. Lassiter suddenly felt an unwelcome but not entirely unwarranted pang of guilt, but he quickly shoved it away.

"In all seriousness," the doctor was saying, "if everything goes smoothly with your knee surgery tomorrow, and if we can get you started on some physical therapy and get that infection completely squashed – temperature holding at no higher than 98.6, no more swelling and redness – and you respond well to your treatment, you'll probably be out of here in a little less than two weeks. Maybe a week and a half."

Shawn's eyes darkened at this news and Lassiter could sympathize. The thought of spending nearly fourteen days in a hospital, laid up with multiple broken bones and no way of getting around or even to the restroom without enlisting help, was not a fate he'd wish even upon, well, even upon someone as exasperating as Spencer.

When Shawn didn't respond, the doctor patted his arm gently and said, "It won't be so bad. We'll get you started on PT within the week, and you'll be well on your way to being your old self within no time. But you're going to have to follow my orders, rest, and not over-exert yourself before I say it's okay."

"I know, I know," Spencer mumbled petulantly, like a child who was being chastised for eating cookies before dinner.

She smiled. "Cheer up." She turned to the detectives. "Are we done here?" she asked. "Because my patient is exhausted, and he needs rest and pain medicine, and I wasn't all that convinced that taking his statement so soon was such a good idea in the first place." She raised one delicate but amazingly powerful eyebrow.

Lassiter dipped his head. "We're done. C'mon, O'Hara, we need to stop by the station and see if McNab has that paperwork for us – he says hi, and that the pineapple with the smiley face drawn on it is from him and Frannie; they'll be by again sometime tomorrow after you get out of surgery." Lassiter quickly remembered, and his words brought a tired grin to Spencer's face. Juliet nodded and smiled at Shawn.

"Get better," she said. "Let me know if you need anything."

Shawn nodded, looking at her with that half-dazed expression again, which nauseated the head detective.

"All right, let's go," he ordered. He turned to leave, then spun back slightly to face Shawn. Awkwardly, he shifted and said, "And, you did good, Spencer." It wasn't much, but Shawn's face lit up anyway at the praise and Lassiter rolled his eyes. "But you're still an idiot."

"And you're still a Lassie-face," Shawn reassured him. "So we're good."

Henry sat beside Shawn's bed while his son slept. He'd been given some pretty heavy pain medication and had been knocked out for quite some time after he'd given his statement, which had wiped him out. To say that Henry was annoyed that he'd gone and given it while he was gone to pick up Madeline would be an understatement, because as much as it would pain him to have to hear it again, he needed to. He was Shawn's father, and he hadn't always been the father of the year, but it was his job to be there for his son when he was hurting and Shawn was most definitely hurting now. But he'd probably taken advantage of Henry's not being there when the detectives arrived so that he wouldn't have an audience. Henry and a worried and exhausted Madeline had met up with Gus at the nurses' station after finally making it to the hospital from the airport, and had been told that Shawn had insisted on doing this alone.

Madeline sat beside him, watching him sleep, her eyes misty. Henry glanced from his ex-wife to his son. He hadn't watched Shawn sleep in a long time. Not since he'd been six years old and he'd developed an awful case of pneumonia, when Henry would slip into his room at two or three in the morning to check on him, watching him sleep and reassuring himself he was okay. Shawn hadn't been in the hospital long enough to do much sleeping for the gunshot wound, so that didn't count. He realized how young his son still looked when he slept. His eyes traveled across the bruises and casts and bandages, and a deep sadness ate at his chest, momentarily swallowing the consuming anger that had been burning in him since this whole thing had started.

Madeline's voice startled him out of his reverie. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

"That he'd be really freaked out if he knew we were sitting here watching him sleep," Henry said dryly. It wasn't a total lie, because the thought had just occurred to him.

His ex-wife smiled slightly. "Well, he scared the hell out of us, so if we want to watch over him while he sleeps, he's just going to have to deal with it." Henry snorted slightly. "What are you really thinking?"

There was no pulling the wool over the eyes of a psychologist, especially one who knew him so well.

"This shouldn't have happened," he finally said, and his voice was close to trembling. "No one should have to worry about someone going after their kid because of something they did. I can't help but think..." He shook his head.

"You're right," Maddie said, and he looked at her in surprise. "It shouldn't have happened. And you can bet your ass that I want to rip the heart out of the twisted SOB that did this to my baby." There was fire in her eyes and venom in her voice. "But it's not your fault. I don't know the whole story – yet – but even if it had had something to do with a case you had investigated, that wouldn't have been your fault. You did your job, a little too well and a little too much at times, maybe, but you taught Shawn how to take care of himself and helped turn him into the man he is today, and thanks to him, to both of you, you're both alive."

Henry sat in stunned silence, not sure what to make of her speech. He'd been expecting anger and accusation, and when it hadn't come during the ride to the hospital – that had all been her demanding answers and his trying to give watered-down explanations – he'd thought the storm would come later. He deserved it, he'd thought. He'd poured too much into his job. He'd pushed Shawn too much, driven him away. He'd testified in court, and Shawn had nearly died because of it. He didn't want thanks or comfort; he wanted someone to be angry with him, because he was angry with himself, almost as angry as he was at Stevens, even.

Both sat in silence for a long moment, and then the silence was broken, and not by either of them. They both jumped slightly when Shawn's tired voice spoke up, groggy from medication and sleep. "Dad..." he said softly. "I'm..." he yawned, "...proud of you. Mom's right. Don't be a stubborn old mule and just accept that you're a pretty damn good dad, all right?"

He then mumbled something muffled about pineapples and fell silent again.

"Do you think he was awake that whole time?" Maddie asked, her smile wide and bright.

"Maybe. Or he could've just woken up and stopped to eavesdrop," Henry said, his heart pounding and mind spinning at what had just transpired between himself and his son. It was so utterly unexpected, but somehow it helped him realize that yes, there were going to be nightmares and hurdles, lots of physical therapy and probably counseling, but that they were going to be okay. Shawn wouldn't let this crush him. And when everything tried to start crumbling, Henry would make sure he'd stand by his son's side and help him hold up the walls.

"Don't know if he was asleep then, or if he's even fallen back to sleep now," Henry said gruffly, "but I hope he knows that I love him. Love you, kid."

He didn't miss the slight lift of the corner of Shawn's mouth at his words, and for the first time in days, Henry relaxed, just thankful to be surrounded by the people he loved, and knowing everything was going to be all right.

It wasn't until nearly three days later that Henry actually got a chance to sit down and talk to Shawn, just the two of them, for more than ten minutes at a time. This was something that both of them desperately needed, yet were both extremely nervous about, despite their 'moment' a few days ago.

Shawn had been taken into surgery the next day for his knee, and he'd been in surgery for nearly four and a half hours, and then he'd been in recovery, and then he'd been so doped up on drugs that he couldn't stay awake or coherent long enough to string two words together, and he slept deeply and soundly because of the medication. This was a relief to everyone, because in the short few days he'd been aware, every time he drifted to sleep he was woken by nightmares.

The day after that, his fever had spiked a little bit, causing some concern, but they'd gotten it back down fairly easily and the infection, though still there, was contained. But he'd been groggy, but unfortunately, he'd once again started waking frequently, sometimes violently, from nightmares. Someone was always by his side when he slept, knowing that when he woke in the throes of a dream, reliving his time in the 'courtroom' with Aaron, he'd need someone to help calm him down, to remind him he was safe, that he wasn't in that storage building anymore.

The third day, today, they'd started physical therapy on his right shoulder. It must have been extremely painful, and when they were finished, Shawn was sweaty, pale and looked like he was going to be sick. But he'd finally – thankfully – fallen to sleep about thirty minutes ago, and he hadn't woken up screaming yet, so that was a good sign, Henry thought.

Gus was taking care of some things at the Psych office. They were trying to figure out what was going to become of the agency while Shawn recovered, if they were going to close temporarily or if they would still try to work occasional cases from a distance, looking at files and more background stuff. Shawn, of course, had not been fond of either idea, because while the thought of closing down Psych until he was back on his feet was unthinkable, sitting around reading and doing actual work behind a desk was almost as bad. Gus was trying to get some things done on the business end, because no matter what they decided, bills still needed to be paid and the office maintained.

Henry had finally managed to convince Madeline to go home – his home – for a well-needed rest. He'd actually slept some the past few days, and although his own injuries hurt more now that they'd had time to settle in and start aching, he really did feel a lot better, and now he'd wanted his ex-wife to do the same. She'd finally agreed to go to the house, rest, and come back the next morning.

So it was just Henry and Shawn, and Shawn was sleeping. Henry half-wanted Shawn to wake up so that they could get this over with. They needed to talk, they needed closure or something, because they had been through a tragedy together and they couldn't leave this hanging. Despite what Shawn had said the other night, Henry still harbored a ridiculous amount of guilt and regret.

Shawn's eyes snapped open. Henry leaned forward, taken aback at the sudden change, but when he looked at his son's face, hazel eyes glassy and unfocused, wide with terror, he knew that Shawn wasn't here. He was back at the building with Stevens.

Shawn's breathing was hard and labored, and one of the machines was starting to beep more rapidly. Henry quickly reached out, put a firm hand on Shawn's lower right arm, and said, "Shawn." Shawn continued to stare ahead, and Henry's heart broke, but he moved his hand to cup the side of Shawn's bruised but healing face, gently running his thumb across his cheekbone. He wasn't used to this kind of interaction with Shawn – he hardly ever even hugged the kid as it was – but ever since the Stevens fiasco, he'd found that the best way to ease Shawn's nightmares and calm him down was by physical connection. And it wasn't awkward at all, not like he'd thought it would be. Shawn may have been a grown man – well, a facsimile of one, anyway; age was only a number, after all – but he was still Henry's son. His child. And he'd come so, so close to losing him, to losing everything. And if Shawn needed his father's touch, a gentle word, to help him out of the darkness that was eating up his mind, then Henry would do whatever it took.

"Wake up, son. It's me. It's Dad. You're okay."

Shawn blinked, his breathing still heavy and hitched, but he glanced around, dazed, as if seeing the room for the first time. His slightly more focused eyes met Henry's own worried ones for a moment, and then Henry quickly sat back, removing his hand from Shawn's face and putting it in his lap. Comforting Shawn wasn't awkward, but sometimes the aftermath was. He figured that this was because they were both men, and beyond that, men who weren't exactly good with feelings and emotions.

Henry watched intently as Shawn calmed himself down, eyes still wide but breathing evening out. He coughed, and Henry saw that his face was reddening slightly beneath the bruising. "Sorry," Shawn muttered.

Henry sat back, satisfied that Shawn was okay – as okay as one could be in his situation – and said, "You have nothing to be sorry for, Shawn."

Shawn scowled. "I let him get in my head, Dad. I let him into my dreams, and he's still winning even though he's behind bars. I just..." He sighed heavily and suddenly became preoccupied by a loose thread on his blanket.

"Shawn, look at me," Henry ordered. When Shawn didn't respond, only picked at the string, Henry said it again, stronger this time. "Look at me, Shawn."

Shawn slowly lifted his head, and the pain in his eyes nearly took Henry's breath away. "I know what you're feeling," he said slowly, trying to think of the best words to say to help his son. "You think you're weak because you're having nightmares. You think you should be able to handle it and just get over it, because you're alive and he shouldn't get in your head."

Shawn shrugged half-heartedly with one shoulder – the recently dislocated one – and then winced in pain.

"Guess what, kid? I've seen a lot of things as a cop and then a detective. And I know you've seen some crap, too, but some of the calls I've taken, some of the things I've seen, I never told you about, never mentioned it. You thought that the unsolved Veronica Towne murder would have kept you up at night?" He shook his head. "I've seen things that have given me nightmares, and these things didn't even happen to me. So if some sicko targets you, and if he... if you're the victim, doesn't that sound like just as much of a reason, if not more, to lose sleep? It's not weakness, Shawn. It's trauma. He's not winning, and he won't win, because I know you're stronger than that. But you've got to stop thinking there's something wrong with you because you're scared and hurt."

"I'm not scared," Shawn said petulantly.

"Bull. Quit denying it, own up to the fact that you are traumatized and terrified – rightfully so – and stop trying to pretend that you're okay, because it's going to take you that much longer to get through this."

Shawn pursed his lips, looking like he wanted to say something, but he held back, eyes troubled.

Henry gave a soft huff as he moved slightly in the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position with all his aches and pains.

Shawn regarded him quietly for a moment, and then asked, "How are you holding up, Dad? He did a number on you, didn't he?"

Henry grunted. "I got in a couple of good hits too."

Shawn cocked his head. "I don't really remember much of the boxing match," he said slowly, "other than the fact that I was playing the part of that giant beanbag that hangs from the ceiling in gyms—"

"It's called a punching bag, Shawn," Henry said tersely, not liking what seemed to be a flippant reference to what he'd gone through but knowing it was one of the only defense mechanisms Shawn knew.

"Aptly named," his son said darkly. "Anyway, I don't remember a whole lot of what happened after you escaped." His eyes traveled to Henry's other hand, the one that was wrapped tightly in gauze with his thumb extended in a perpetual thumbs-up. "Sorry about your thumb."

"Why? It got me loose, didn't it? You'd rather I'd stayed a captive audience?"

Shawn winced and Henry cursed himself. With Shawn and his stubbornness, it was so easy to fall into his usual critical, sarcastic and sniping tones, just because it was familiar and it was one of his coping mechanisms. "I'm sorry, Shawn."

Shawn shook his head. "Nah. It's just... you broke your own thumb for me, Dad. That's pretty intense."

Henry looked his son dead in the eye, completely serious as he said, "It was the least I would have done, kid. I did what I had to do, to get that..." he hesitated, struggling to find a word vile enough to describe Stevens, "that... man... away from you." He couldn't come up with a foul enough word, so he'd settled for saying 'man' in a really disgusted tone. "I would have done it sooner, but until he unlocked one set of the cuffs, I didn't have the leverage."

"Like I said, you broke your own bones for me. I'm not complaining."

Henry smiled slightly. "Yeah, well, you weren't so bad yourself. How the hell did you manage to knock Stevens out like that?"

Shawn got a distant look for a long moment, and Henry wondered if he'd gone too far in mentioning the man's name or referencing Shawn's condition at the time, but then Shawn seemed to snap out of it. "Not sure," he admitted. "I just realized he was about to shoot you. Don't know where I found the strength, but I did what I had to do. You were always telling me that as a kid, right? 'Do what you gotta do, Shawn, stop complaining, suck it up, and just do it.'"

He said this in what was supposed to have been an impression of his father, but he sounded ridiculous, like a constipated Popeye. "I don't talk like that, Shawn."

"Agree to disagree. But the point is, I don't really know what happened, but it did." His face was slightly flushed, whether from exertion or embarrassment, Henry wasn't sure. "Can we leave it at that, please?"

Henry watched Shawn for a moment, the way his Adam's apple bobbed beneath a noose-shaped bruise, and for a moment all he could see was that split second before Lassiter had fired his gun, when the rope around Shawn's neck had gone taut. Thank God Stevens hadn't tightened that noose to snap his neck first thing, or even with Lassiter's quick shooting, it would have been too late.

"Dad?"

Henry cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah," he said gruffly. "But if you need to talk, I'm here, your mom, Gus..."

"I know, Dad. And thanks for saving me." He looked seriously at his father. "And stop blaming yourself, all right? It's not your fault. Everything's not all about you, you know?"

Henry smirked and rolled his eyes. "Only you would see me being selfish in all of this."

"No," Shawn said, completely genuine. "I'm just saying that it wasn't your fault. You did what was right, and someone else made a choice in response, but you didn't cause this."

Henry fought against the stinging that was suddenly at the corners of his eyes and the aching at the back of his throat. "I know you don't remember a whole lot," he said. "But what I did... he made me declare you guilty. I sentenced you—"

Shawn shook his head again. "No. You did what you had to, Dad. I'm sure that whatever he would've done if you hadn't 'condemned' me in 'court' wouldn't have been too pleasant for either of us, am I right?"

Henry heard Stevens' voice in his head, telling him that if he didn't go by the evidence, he'd start shooting Shawn. Maybe a toe next time. He hadn't had a choice, and he'd used the moment as a distraction to escape, but still, the disgust he felt with himself at what had ultimately been sentencing his son to death—

Shawn brought him out of his dark reverie with a sharp, "Dad!"

Henry's head snapped up, and it wasn't until he lifted it that he realized it had sunk into his hands. "Shawn, I—"

"Please, Dad. Just... stop. Stop beating yourself up. I meant what I said the other night. I'm proud of you, and you saved me, and we're both going to make it through this, all right? But I can't..." He took a deep breath, and Henry knew that whatever he was about to say was hard for him to admit. "I can't do it by myself, Dad, and even though Gus and Jules and Mom want to help, they don't understand. No one else can really understand what I'm feeling but you, and I need you to be strong for me, Dad."

Henry sat in stunned silence for a moment after Shawn's speech. Shawn had never been one to willingly ask for help, or to even admit that he needed help, but this experience had shifted something in their relationship. For the first time in years, it was as if they were truly seeing one another for the first time.

Swallowing thickly, trying to get his damned emotions under control, Henry replied, "I'll try, Shawn, but you're a lot stronger than you know, son. And I'm proud of you too."

Shawn smiled genuinely, even as his eyes grew heavier. "Really, Dad? It's... nice to hear you say..."

His words drifted off into a sleepy mumble. Henry watched him fall back asleep and thought that he looked a bit more at peace than he had before. Henry knew that even though they both had plenty of demons ahead of them to face, there was a link, a bond between them now that had been forged in the fires of adversity, and he knew then that they would strengthen each other in the difficult times to come.

They were still going to argue and bicker and pick at each other, he knew that as surely as he knew that Shawn was going to make it through this, because with his and Shawn's contrasting personalities and attitudes, there was no way they were ever going to get along perfectly. But then again, what father and son did?

What was important now was that they had come through this alive, and they would eventually begin to heal, and then they would be stronger than they had been and they had a new respect for one another that had never been there before.

"Love you, kid," he said softly. "You did good."

Replies to Anonymous Reviewers

To Checkerz: Thank you so much! So glad you're enjoying it! :)

To PsychO99: Thank you so much! I'm a sucker for father/son interaction too! :D Thanks so much for keeping that huge cyclops eye out for the sequel! That made me grin! :)

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews for chapter 15: Liberty Hoffman, Checkerz, Leahlisabeth, ShamrockNinny, LuffyLover, PsychO99, IrishPride1989, thewarpedmind1, GrimmSistah, Clara Brighet, Polaris'05, Vinividivinci and BrokenSky49! And thank you to TheReinbachDragonlord for reviewing chapter 6! Thanks also to everyone who favorited, followed, and read!

Just an epilogue left, but you don't want to miss it! So please stay tuned one more week for the finale! Please let me know what you think! :)

I seriously love you guys!

~Emachinescat ^..^