It's been four weeks. Four weeks of lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and practically begging his body to fall asleep. Four weeks of intermittently throwing up when no one was looking because his body doesn't know how to handle these sleepless nights any longer. His hands shake, his eyes are red, and he doesn't know how he's made it so long.

He sleeps for a few minutes at a time, but not any longer than two hours per night. He's turned off his tv, he's taken fewer and easier cases, he's tried going to bed earlier and sleeping later, but nothing works. Gus is concerned about him. He doesn't know what's wrong, exactly, but he knows that there's something wrong with Shawn.

His insomnia has affected his ability to work on cases, and Shawn has confided in only Chief Vick that he can't sleep at night, and that he doesn't know what's wrong with him, but whatever it is, it's hampering his ability to work on cases. Chief Vick thanked him and wished him well.

Tonight is day 31 of sleepless nights, and he's tried everything else thus far: working out, reading, working a case, solving puzzles, playing Solitaire. When he's deduced that none of those things are going to work, he gets his phone and makes a call.

It rings once, twice, three times. In the middle of the fourth ring, Henry picks up and says, "You better have a damn good reason for waking me up at 3 in the fucking morning, Shawn."

Shawn exhales shakily. "I can't sleep."

"Take a Melatonin."

"No, Dad –" Shawn sighs again and looks around the dark room. "It doesn't help. I'm not able to work cases, I'm worrying Jules and Gus – to be honest, I think even Lassie is concerned, but he won't ever admit it –, and I just- it's making me sick, Dad. I throw up because I'm just- my body- I can't handle this, Dad, it's scaring me."

"Whoa, there, kid. Take a breath. Calm down, you'll be just fine. Is there anything specifically you're worrying about or you're thinking really hard about? Juliet, maybe? A closed case that isn't sitting well with you?"

Shawn shakes his head, well aware of the fact that his father can't see him. "No, it's none of that. I'm not overthinking anything, I just. Can't sleep. No matter how tired I am, I get only two hours of sleep at the most."

Henry sighs, and Shawn imagines him running a hand over his scalp. "It happens, sometimes. Insomnia. Sometimes, it can be completely random. You should probably try a doctor."

"And waste a lot of money for him to tell me the same thing you will? I'm running out of options, Dad."

"Well, what do you want me to do, sing you a lullaby?"

Shawn pauses and purses his lips. "You know, that's not a bad idea."

Henry sighs. "Alright, Shawn. Close your eyes."

Shawn lies back down on his mattress. "You know I don't trust you when you say that."

"We're not playing that stupid hat game this time. Just get ready to fall asleep."

Shawn pats his mattress. "I'm on the bed now."

"Okay, good. Just listen to me: remember when you were little and your mom would be out of town, and you'd get scared during the storm?"

"Very vaguely, and that's only because you'd sing me lullabies and you sounded like a dying cat."

"Gee, thanks, Shawn, it's not like I'm trying to help you right now or anything. Just…do you remember that?"

Shawn licks his lips. "Yeah," he says. "I remember you telling me to listen to the sound of the rain hitting the roof and I remember you singing me a lullaby."

"Right. Well, imagine the sound of raindrops."

"I'm not Mom, Dad, I can't just recall random sounds –"

"Shawn."

"Okay, okay." He closes his eyes tightly and tries to imagine the sound of rain. "Okay, got it."

Henry clears his throat. "Before you go to sleep, say a little prayer. Every day in every way, it's getting better and better. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy. Out on the ocean, sailing away, I can hardly wait to see you come of age. But I guess we'll both just have to be patient, 'cause it's a long way to go. A hard row to hoe, yes, it's a long way to go. But in the meantime: before you cross the street, take my hand. Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy."

Shawn's breathing slows. "Dad, could- could you keep singing?"

Henry sighs. "Okay, son."