His throat feels tight.
There's a part of his brain that keeps screaming at him This isn't normal, this isn't normal, this isn't right, something is wrong. He turns his head and coughs, clutching the edge of the bar counter with white-knuckled fingers. His breaths come rapidly and labored, his heart beats way too fast, and his vision blurs. He opens his mouth and gulps down air as it comes to him.
"Shawn? Shawn!"
Whoever's shouting at him sounds like they're underwater. His breaths come faster. He doesn't dare close his eyes long enough to blink.
Think, he tells himself, who did you come here with?
The answer is immediate: Dad.
He reaches out one hand, finding his father's arm and gripping it with the last bit of strength he has. "I- I think –" he swallows and gulps for air again. This- this was a really bad idea. In the extensive history of all his bad ideas, this easily makes the top of the list. "I've been poisoned."
Henry twists his arm so that he can hold onto his son. "Shawn, slow down. What do you mean you've been poisoned?"
Shawn's throat constricts, and with a lurch of his stomach, he retches. A woman screams in disgust. "Check- check my drink."
Henry furrows his brow and reaches for Shawn's drink with his other hand. He bends down and sniffs it, and it immediately smells wrong. "Shawn?"
Shawn wheezes and pitches forward. His vision is darkening at the edges. Dear God, he's going to die.
"Shawn? Shawn! Hang on, buddy, just hang on. Someone call an ambulance!"
Shawn throws up again, and blood dribbles from his lips. It feels like his brain is on fire, sending electrical signals running up and down his entire body. He suddenly feels very cold and very hot at the same time. He opens his mouth to speak, to warn his father of his impending death, but he doesn't have enough air to speak.
He falls from his barstool, and the ambulance has barely left the station.